


Dream a Freakin' Holiday Dream of Me

by lunaraindrop



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Christmas!fic, Derek is a Christmas Baby, Dreams, F/M, Fluff, Humor, Hurt Derek, Kittens, M/M, Magic!Stiles, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Parent Derek and Stiles, Prophetic Dreams, Romance, Stiles Takes Care Of Derek, birthday!fic, futute!fic, holiday!fic, parents!Sterek
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-18
Updated: 2016-10-17
Packaged: 2018-01-09 03:26:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 26,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1140871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunaraindrop/pseuds/lunaraindrop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the process of getting Derek Hale the best birthday gift, Stiles is given some spiked tea by an old lady and sees a glimpse of his future. What ever will he do? parents!Sterek! future!fic Christmas fic! birthday!fic</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rain and Bday boy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [catberrry](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=catberrry).



> This is a gift fic for Ollie (Catberrry on lj) for out Team Werewolf gift exchange! What started out as a drabble quickly exploded into this story. Ollie, I hope you don't mind that I borrowed your name. 
> 
> Speaking of names, the idea of the name Vojtech in this story was inspired by the author milkyway's stories. I am a huge fan of milkyway's stories, and I really hope they consider the name for Stiles real name on the show. 
> 
> This has also been posted on ff.net, but tweeked a little here and there. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

A sated and satisfied Stiles nuzzled the temple of his sleeping husband, curled around him in their soft, warm bed. He kissed the naked, sweat moistened skin of his mate’s shoulder, smiling affectionately, as he got up from the bed. Slipping on his _Star Wars_ bath robe, Stiles quietly, yet quickly, shuffled down the hall to take care of the noise that woke him up.

Walking into the room, Stiles followed the sounds of distress coming from the crib on the left side of the room.

Looking down with a fond smile, Stiles saw the culprit: a squalling baby with a trembling lip.

“Hey there champ, “ Stiles said as he scooped up his tiny infant son, “couldn’t wait til morning for Santa? Man, I know how you feel.” The young father grabbed the yellow wolf cub blankie that the baby had kicked off with his petite feet, and wrapped it one-handed partway around the child crooked in his arm.

 He kissed the top of a fuzzy head. “We can’t wake your Papa and your sisters though, especially since your older sister has already been up once tonight. How about we go get you a fresh diaper, a nice warm bottle, and see if jolly Ol’ Saint Nick has visited yet. Okay little guy?”

Lightly bouncing the, now less distressed hiccupping baby, Stiles peered into the other crib in the room. Sleeping soundly in the crib was his cherub cheeked daughter, the twin to the boy he was holding.

Tiptoeing out of the room and down the hall, Stiles gave a quick peep into his older daughter’s room. The little girl was safely tucked in, moonlight highlighting the curve of her ear and one chocolate-brown curl, clutching her favorite doll in her small hands. 

The family’s well loved pet cat was hidden in shadow, but could be seen protectively sleeping at the foot on the young girl’s bed. Quietly closing the door to barely a crack, Stiles walked the baby into the kitchen.

After a few minutes of preparing a bottle, changing a diaper, getting peed on by his strangely smug looking son, (“I swear, that look is purely your Papa’s. You did that on purpose. You think it’s funny, using Daddy for target practice, little guy?”), and placing the baby in the play pen to trade his wet robe in for a shirt and pajama bottoms, Stiles and his content baby boy snuggled in the rocking chair by the tree.

“Santa” had already placed his gifts under the tree for the children, so Stiles knew he could safely spend some quality time just chilling in the living room, having some guy-time with the youngest male in their family.

Looking at the wall, Stiles watched the multi-colored lights reflecting off the pictures on their walls, as his eager son sucked down his bottle. Years of happy memories were dancing with the Christmas tree lights, ranging from the large Pack-Family photo from two Thanksgivings before, to the sleeping pair of his Dad and Step-Mom holding their equally sleepy and drooling first grandbabies, to the off-center picture Scott took the night he proposed to his husband. 

Stiles felt his chest expand in pride. Yes, _he_ proposed--or well, proposed first. When he finally realized that it all was true, everything he had learned from that odd dream was actually _real_ , and not actually a dream at all, but some funked-up spiced-tea induced **magic** , he ecstatically planned to make the man of his dreams officially _his_.  He didn’t find out until after he proposed that his mate had been planning to ask _him,_ but kept chickening out due to nerves. 

Ha! As if Stiles would not have said yes. In the end they both preferred Stiles doing the asking. Can’t really be nervous the guy you want to spend the rest of your life with might say no if he asks _you_ to marry _him_ , right? 

As Stiles rocked the pudgy boy in the green Grinch onesie his auntie bought him for Christmas, Stiles thought back on the things that happened earlier that evening. He knew things worked out, because he was still here, lovingly snuggled up a pint sized lump of pure love. However, he couldn’t help but wonder and remember everything that brought him to this moment.

 

**Seven years and three days earlier**

 

“…and since there’s no place to go, let it rain, let it rain, let it friggen rain!” Stiles disgruntledly sang as he kicked a stone on the side of the road. 

When people thought of snow at Christmastime, they usually think of white, fluffy snowflakes falling, sledding down hills in the park, making snowmen on their front lawns, and perhaps catching some snowflakes on their tongues.  

That was until they came to Northern California, particularly in the Beacon Hills region.

 Instead of the fluffy snowflakes swirling magically in the air around Stiles, he was treated to the freezing cold rain, a tradition in Beacon Hills in itself as much as the tree in Town Square, chilled to the bone by the rain that was cutting through flannel like razorblades. Yes, while people (read: Scott) still hoped and prayed for snow, it was like Santa was dumping acid-flavored slushies on Stiles’ head.

_Still_ , Stiles thought as he crossed his arms tighter and shrugged his shoulders, _as cold and drown-ratish as I am , there’s no way in hell that I would rather be at home right now!_

Don’t get Stiles wrong, everything was fine at home. 

Peachy keen. 

He and his Dad happily managed to do a halfway decent decorating job on the Stilinski homestead, right after Thanksgiving. All the stockings, (ie, a plain red and white one for the Sheriff, a black and yellow _Batman_ one for Stiles), were 3m wall hooked to the fireplace with care, and Stiles and Scott had fun making the customary Christmas cookies they made every year. 

Well, customary for _them_. 

Not many would think gingerbread mutants and peanut butter dinosaurs had anything to do with Christmas, but Mrs. Stilinski had been smart. She always managed to get the boys to help her bake by encouraging them to make “cool” cookies. Even though she was gone, the tradition still held. 

This caused some dubious looks over the years.

_“Stiles, what is this?”_

_“Come on Dad, it’s a Christmas Pterodactyl! See, you can see his jellybean hat and impressive delicious wingspan!!”_

_“Scott. What am I eating?”_

_“Professor Xavier, Mom!”_

_“No, Sweetie, I meant the type of cookie. I can’t tell by the amount of icing and sprinkles on it.”_

_“Uh…I think gingersnap?”_

So yes, all was surprising well in the Stilinski home, considering all of the supernatural happening that frequently occurred in the town. 

So, why was Stiles walking down the street, three days before Christmas, in the pouring rain?

Well, there were actually a few reasons.

The first and most obvious reason: his Jeep broke down. 

Yes, just Stiles’ luck, his baby broke down half way to the shopping mall, in the freezing rain. Also his luck, he had left the house in such a hurry that he forgot his phone on the table, so he could not call for a tow or somebody to come pick him up.

Why did he leave the house in such a hurry? We’ll get to that in a bit.

The second reason:  Derek freaking Hale. 

More importantly, Derek freaking Hale being a miserable martyr and not telling anyone that his birthday was on Christmas. Stiles got that little tidbit of information quite by accident earlier that day. While at the library with Lydia, Cora and Isaac, they decided to take a break from researching if the elves at Santa’s Workshop at the Mall could _actually_ be real elves, they gathered round to see the interesting Zodiac book Stiles found. After reading all of their signs, as well as Scott’s, Lydia and Isaac decided to go get _Starbucks_ while Stiles and Cora continued to look over the book. When Stiles was about to read Derek’s sign, still believing that Derek’s birthday was still November 7 th like on the driver’s license in the police file, Cora stopped him.

_“No, that’s not right. Derek’s a Capricorn.” Cora had said._

_When Stiles argued that early November’s sign was Scorpio, Cora gave him a strange look._

_“Early November? No, Derek was born in December.”_

_That made Stiles pause. Why would Derek go to the trouble of having a fake birthday on his license, yet keep his real name?_

_“Early or late December?”_

_“Christmas Day. See? Capricorn.”_

Which lead to Stiles realizing that nobody but he and Cora…and possibly Deaton, knew that Derek’s birthday was coming up. Thinking it over on the drive back home, Stiles realized that on top of everything else life handed Derek, he was a middle child who had to share his birthday with a manger baby. That thought of wittle Derek, with his cute bunny teeth and baby caterpillar eyebrows, getting birthday/Christmas gifts because it was the same day, made Stiles heart ache.

Scott, the most puppy-like Alpha to ever Alpha, insisted in the Pack doing a Secret Santa, to help them bond and to share in the holiday cheer. Stiles was lucky in drawing Lydia, because he had been shopping for her for years. All he had to do was walk into _Macy’s_ and find the most Lydia Martin-looking things, and poof, done! The strawberry blonde Goddess was going to receive the perfect combination gift of an amethyst and crystal necklace, and a state of the art graphing calculator.

Yeah, he was the man.

Scott however, had some trouble with getting his person (read:Derek) a good gift. Stiles was just going to let Scott figure it out on his own, until he saw that Scott was planning on giving Derek leather socks. 

_Leather socks? Those were a thing? Who the hell invented leather socks?! Who would want to buy them?_

Scott McCall, that’s who.

So Stiles gently intervened (read: whacked him upside the head), and suggested he get Derek that used copy of _Le Petit Prince_ in the bookstore. (Derek could front all he wanted, but Stiles knew interested side-eyeing when he saw it.)

The good news was that Derek was going to at least get a Christmas gift he was going to like. The not so good news? Derek was probably only going to get a birthday gift from Cora, who said she did all of her holiday shopping at the butcher shop, and had probably only received birthday presents from only Laura for _years_.

That tore it. Stiles knew he had to do something, and something special, to make sure that Derek had a good birthday.

This lead to reason number three: operation get-Derek-the-perfect-bday-present .

 Aside from the book, Stiles was not really sure what to get Derek. With a stroke of genius, Stiles decided to stop by the house and ask his Dad for some advice. Afterall, his Dad was a dude too, he might have some better idea than getting Derek a singing card and a packet of car air freshener trees.

That turned out to be a horrible, terrible, brain bleach needing mistake!

Stiles was really happy for his Dad, he was. He and Scott had been shipping their parents for years, and were ecstatic when they told them that they were dating.

“Dad?” Stiles called from the front door. Walking in he kicked off his shoes, dropped his backpack on the couch, and put his phone on the coffee table. Before he could call out again, he heard a muffled noise coming from the kitchen.

Getting up cautiously, Stiles reached out for the lamp…only to feel fabric touch his hand. Pulling it to his face, he realized that there had been a shirt hanging on the lamp. Actually, it looked like the top of a medical scrubs uniform…

He heard a clearer noise that time. It was more like a groa-

Stiles eyes widened in horror.

“Oh dear holy sweet God NO!”

As much as Stiles loved his Dad and Melissa being together…a son should **not** hear the kind noises that his father and his father’s girlfriend were making. In the kitchen.

IN THE KITCHEN! Where they ate food!

Flailing his hands and throwing the scrub shirt like it was on fire, Stiles was so spooked that he ran right out the front door, forgetting his phone he had placed on the coffee table.

That led to reasons number four: running out of his own house to pretend he did not hear his dad and his best friend’s mom getting it on, ( _ewww_ ), in his kitchen.

 That Ladies and Gentlemen, was why Stiles was currently walking on the side of the road. He sent a thank you to whoever was listening that he made it back into town. Just as he was about to pass _Whole Foods_ , he heard a voice calling out his name.

His _actual_ name. Properly pronounced and all.

* * *

 


	2. of Cabbages and Cats

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles is rescued from the rain by his and Scott's childhood babysitter, an old Polish cat lady named Mrs. Sztuczka. After bonding with a kitten in her care and helping her make her special medicinal paste, she gives Stiles a cup of tea.

“Vojtech Stilinski! What are you doing out in this weather?! You’ll catch your death!”

Stiles looked over to the grocery store’s parking lot. Across from him was a little old lady in a loud fuchsia raincoat, holding a bag of cat food under one arm, and clutching a bag of cabbages in the other. 

 He waved awkwardly, putting on his best fake-and-not- freezing- to-death smile on.

 “Hey Mrs. Sztuczka! Lovely winter wonderland we’ve got going on, right?”

The old woman proceeded to take Stiles by the hand to fuss over him, clucking her tongue at him like an exasperated chicken.

“Oh Vojtech, this will not do! You are soaked to the bone! Poor dear.”

Stiles explained what happened to his Jeep down the street, leaving out that he forgot his phone, and _why_. He would spare her those details.

For as long as Stiles could remember, Ollie Sztuczka, the tiny Polish immigrant cat lady, had lived in the red Victorian house down the street edging the woods, all by herself, (unless you counted her many cats). Never having met either of his actual grandmothers, she and Scott’s abuela were the closest things he had ever had to one. Mrs. Sztuczka, who not only knew his name, but could pronounce it perfectly, had been his parents and Mrs. McCall’s go-to babysitter when they were kids.

Standing in the rain and looking down at her cabbages, Stiles felt a pang in his heart, realizing that he might have forgotten her this holiday season.

“Here Mrs.S, let me put your groceries in the trunk.”

“Oh you can do more than that, young man! Get the newspaper from the back and cover the seat. You are coming home with me to get dry and warm up!”

Stiles hesitated as he stuffed the large bag of cat food in here trunk.

“I have meatloaf and pirogues…”

His head shot up, nearly missing the trunk lid.

“The cheesy potato kind?!”

She smiled her weathered smile, a sparkle in her lined eyes.

“But of course dear!”

_Get out of the cold, and the promise of meat and ooey gooey potatoey goodness?_

Stiles stomach grumbled.

“I’m sold!”

 

Twenty minutes later Stiles dried off with a towel, staring at the rainbow unicorn wallpaper in the bathroom. He smiled fondly, remembering when Mrs. Sztuczka let him and Scott help pick it out when she was having her bathroom remodeled. His Dad had tried to assure her that she didn’t need to go through with it, but she insisted that the boys had good taste. They sure thought it was classy, and suited the woman.

A knock came at the unicorn and _Transformers_ stickered door.

“Open up and put these on dear.  I’ll throw your clothes into the dryer.”

After some struggle, hopping, and almost taking out the glittery towel rack, Stiles put on the offered clothes and looked back in the mirror.

The teen blew out a sigh. “Oh boy, don’t I look pretty?”

He squared his shoulders, and gave himself his best Derek-Hale eyebrow lift.

If his drag queen friends could wear women’s clothes, then so could he!

Well okay, so maybe their clothes were more fashionable… and fitting, and he was wearing a purple and red old lady sweat suite with embroidered cats on it. It sort of fit, and it was dry. He could not complain.

Amusing himself with the thought of Lydia’s disgusted face in seeing the clothes, let alone on him in them, Stiles walked into the familiar living room of his childhood babysitting adventures.

In a strange way, the house always reminded him of Umbridge’s office from _Harry Potter_ , except less pink. Ollie Sztuczka detested pink.  Other than that one factor, Mrs. S’ house was full of doilies, cats, and decorative plates with cats on them against dated floral purple, turquoise, and cream colored wallpaper. 

It was to be expected though, she was an old lady, and from what tv and media had taught him over the years, that was very cliché “old lady” style.

Walking down the hall, Stiles peeked into the office room of the house, which actually housed most of the cat castles. The only thing really “officey” about it were the walls lined with bookshelves.

Peering in closer, avoiding the three cats running in and out by his feet, Stiles looked at the bookshelf in the corner. 

_Just a little to the left…ah! There they are!_ Stiles thought with a smile.

Mrs. S used to sit with Stiles in her big armchair in the office, and would read to him stories from one of the most beautifully illustrated books he had ever seen. The entire book, which was part of a collection, was completely in Polish. She would read to him a passage in her native tongue, and then translate it for him. Stiles would eat up the stories with fascination, gently touching the yellowing pages in awe.

However, his faithful babysitter would skip over pages and stories, saying, _“Oh no, sweetheart, these are much too serious and scary for a young boy!”_ When storytime was over, or when Stiles whined too much about wanting to hear about the other stories she didn’t want to read, she would put the book back on the top shelf, along with it’s brothers and sisters.

 This minor setback would not stop him. Oh no, Stiles was a determined and clever little boy. He just HAD to know what else was in those books! The stories were about folklore, myths, fairytales, and tales so twisted that they made Grimm’s fairytales look like Disney in comparison! If Stiles were one of Mrs. Sztuczka’s cats, that would be his catnip. Yes, they were totally Stilesnip!

On the days when his mom or dad would tell him that he was going to spend some times at Mrs. S’s house, Stiles would sneak his _Captain America_ notebook and pencil with him. Due to the fact that his mom was born in Poland, and his dad’s family was also Polish, they had a Polish to English dictionary at home, which he planned to use.  Using his keen planning skills, Stiles would time it just right, to when she went outside to garden and left him to watch PBS, or when she fell asleep in the middle of watching one of her soap operas, he would crawl across the floor like one of her cats, sneak into the office, climb a cat castle, get the book, and take it back into the living room. He would then proceed to write down as many of the precious words his little fingers could manage. 

Timing it just right, he would put the book back in the bookcase, hide the notebook, and sit in front of the tv until she woke up, or walked back in to wash her hands from dirt.

Later, he would take out his other notebook, his _Dalek_ one, with the dictionary and proceed to translate the text. It was a tedious, long going process, but it paid off. 

Not only did Stiles get to read the stories, he found that he sort of accidently learned Polish. Go figure! 

Stiles was brought out of his thoughts when he felt something tiny pounce on his foot.

Looking down, he saw what looked like an itty bitty ball of black and white fluff. When the ball moved around and settles on his foot, Stiles realized it was a pint sized kitten.

He lifted his foot slightly.

“Hey there small fry! Do you like the smell of my feet?”

The kitten looked up at him with startling green eyes, and quietly squeaked back at him.

“mew.”

Stiles felt his heart melt as he sat on the floor and cooed at the kitten.

“Oh aren’t you a beauty!”

 He fell even more in love when the kitten instantly curled in his lap and purred up a storm.

After petting the precious kitten, Stiles noticed some strange bald patches on it’s little body.

Mrs. Sztuczka walked in and placed a plate on the coffee table. She looked over and smiled at the two on the floor.

“Oh, it seems you’ve met my latest guest!”

Picking up and rubbing his face in the soft fur, Stiles grin at the woman, then gave a slightly confused head tilt.

“Guest? He isn’t yours then?”

Sitting in her favorite armchair, she sipped her tea.

“Oh no dear, I have not had a new cat in years, and since I’ve had all of mine spayed and neutered, I have not had a kitten in years! I found this poor little lady in the alley about a week ago.”

The kitten bat playfully at Stiles dancing fingers, making him laugh in delight. Noting the patches, Stiles found himself concerned with his new friend.

“What’s with the bald spots on her fur?”

The old women tsked and shook her head.

“I took her to see Dr. Deaton when I took Mr.Whiskers to his checkup. He suspected abuse. Possible burns.”

Stiles felt his jaw drop and heart clench.

“Aww, no. That is terrible! Will she be okay?”

“He said that she seemed fine, but wanted me to continue fostering her. As much as I love cats, I can’t possibly take in another permanently. Dr.Deaton said that he would have taken her into the clinic, but she just would not get along with…well, anyone. I have been lucky to even let her get near me.”

Stiles paused, and looked down at the positively cuddliest kitten that was nuzzling his stomach.

He pointed down.

“This kitten?”

“The very same! I’m actually surprised that she has taken to you so fast Vojtech. Dr. Deaton said that she did seem to like Scooter, but Melissa, bless her, does not want pets.”

He contained the laugh at Scott’s nickname as he let that bit of information set in. That was news. A cat that liked werewolves? He knew that Deaton handled the cats now, and let Scott handle the dogs and pets like rabbits and birds because cats seemed to have an aversion to werewolves. Yet, this one liked Scott? That was noteworthy!

He was going to have to have a little talk with ‘Scooter’ about his scientific breakthrough he didn’t bother to tell his best buddy about.

Mrs. Sztuczka kept talking, unaware of the thoughts going on in the teen’s head.   “If the Sheriff was not allergic, I would suggest you taking her home. She seems to really like you. Now, get up from that floor and go eat! You are skin and bones child!”

Picking the kitten up in the palm of his hand, Stiles sat at the couch, and practically inhaled the meatloaf and pirogues. The kitten looked up at his with sad green eyes.

“mew.”

Before Stiles could even think to give the kitten table food, the little old lady smacked his hand.

“No no! Don’t spoil her! She will get her food in a few minutes. If you will excuse me, I need to fill the cat bowls.”

A minute later, he heard her exclaim from the kitchen.

“Oh! I almost forgot! I promised Gladys that I would make some more paste! Oh Vojtech, dear, my hands are full. Would you be so kind as to start the paste for me?”

Ah yes, Mrs.S’s famous medicinal all-purpose cure-all paste. Mnich Odwrót, accroding to Ollie, was a recipe that had been passed down from generation to generation. When it was just the two of them and Scott was not there, she would have Stiles in the kitchen, teaching him to chop, mince, stir and to make all of her family’s secret recipes. His mom told him should always feel privledged, because she didn’t have any children or grandkids of her own, yet she was sharing so much of herself and teaching him about his heritage at the same time.  

That particular paste she made and would always push in on her neighbors, she insisted that it was a real life saver, and could do many things like treat scrapes and even cure sun burn. 

Yeah, Stiles tried it once after he forgot to put sunscreen on after a field trip. Nope, nada, did not do a thing for him, except make him smell like pickled cabbage and rosemary. Oh, fun fact. The entire paste was made out of boiled cabbages, onions, a sprig or two of rosemary, and apple cider vinegar. It did make her happy, so he and his dad humored her and always took a jar or two. They had a stack of the jars in the pantry.

Stiles placed the kitten on the couch, and snuck her a tiny piece of the meatloaf.

“Shh, just between you and me!”

The kitten looked back at him, happily munching on her contraband food, obviously telepathically telling him that he was her new favorite.

He walked into the kitchen, stopping at the sink to wash his hands.

“Yeah, sure thing Mrs. S! Sauce pans still under the sink?”

She nodded from the mud room, pouring the dry food into the many bowls.

“Do you still remember how to make it, young man?”

Stiles grinned at her, spinning the pan in his hands before placing it on the stove.

 “Yep! I’ve made it so many times with you, I don’t think it’s possible to forget!”

She walked in, carrying the half empty bag of catfood.

“Oh sweetheart, don’t forget to use the rainwater from the barrel outside! It does not work as well with tap water.”

Stiles nodded as he grabbed the empty plastic milk jug she always used for that very reason.

“Right on it!”

Stiles walked out of the mud room to the big wooded barrel on the back porch.

Mr. Sztuczka in his heyday was a bit of an inventor, and rigged up the rainwater catching system. All of the rainwater was siphoned from the roof, and put into a barrel with a tap on the side of the house.  Stiles always thought it was pretty cool.

Thankful that the rain had let up finally, Stiles filled the jug, intent on helping make the stinky concoction. 

As much as he knew he needed to leave and get Derek the best present ever, he had this gut feeling that he should stick around for a while. 

An hour later, the old Victorian house smelled of cabbage, onion, rosemary, and the ever present smell of cats. For all of his hard work, and for the fact that he nicked himself while chopping the onions, Mrs. Sztuczka rewarded Stiles with a plate of sugar cookies she had made earlier that day.

She instructed the young man to sit on the couch, wrap up in a blanket, and relax with the kitten.

He did not need to be told twice.

“Here dear,” She said as she handed him a mug, “try this tea. It’s one of my favorites. Be mindful, it’s a little hot. Take small sips.”

He was wrapped in a blanket on the couch, fluff ball in his lap, feeling warm and sleepy. The tea was wonderful, and it seemed to go down like sweet tasting sunlight, warming and lighting up his body from the inside, leaving him feeling safe and warm and downright cuddly. He felt his eyelid start to feel heavy. The tea was tasty, but unlike any he had ever tasted. The best way he could describe it was like a liquid fortune cookie in a cup. 

A little nap wouldn’t hurt him…

The mug fell to the floor from his limp fingers.

Ollie walked over and picked the cup from the floor, smiling fondly at the boy on her couch.

“Oh I do hope you’re dreams are sweet, young one. You deserve so much happiness. Let’s hope what lies ahead is everything you hoped for.”

* * *

 


	3. Dream a little LSD dream of me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles has a strange dream in which he has no control over his body, and he's in a future in which he's married, magic, and has kids.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is Stiles' "dream". His thoughts will be the ones NOT italicized.

_He was standing in the hall of Mrs._ _Sztuczka house except…not. Gone were the cat plates and dated floral wallpaper, replaced with painted red and cream accented walls, and hundreds of framed photos on the walls._

_He was startled to realize that he was moving. It was like he was watching a first person cut scene on a video game._

**Where am I? What is going on? Why can’t I control my movements?!**

_Before he could totally freak out, he felt a tug at his sweater._

_He turned around…to see the most adorable child he had ever seen._

_In front of him was a little girl of about four or five. She had Shirley Temple worthy boing-boing brown curls, and the strangest mash-up of a frilly nightgown of lace, ribbon… and Iron Man. She was clutching an American Girl doll dressed in what looked like a Gryffindor Hogwarts uniform. The most striking features, however, were her amber colored eyes he recognized from his school pictures, as well as from his mom._

_Oh, this was_ so _his kid._

**Wait, my kid?! I’m a dad?!**

_Stiles voice and mouth started talking without his control. Instead of freaking out or fighting it, Stiles decided to go with it, for the moment, to find out where this was all going._

_“Ollie, warrior princess of my heart, why are you awake?”_

**Oh…Ollie. Right. This is a dream. What the hell is in that tea?**

_“Daddy, Hermione and I were worried.”_

_Stiles’ body crouched down to the girl’s level._

_“Sweetheart, we talked about this. I promise, Santa knows about the twins, and will leave them presents too.”_

**Hold up, twins?**

_“But Daddy! They’re so new! How could they possibly be on the Naughty or Nice list yet?”_

_Stiles’ body booped the girl on the nose._

_“I think Papa explained that one pretty well, kiddo. Remember, babies get a grace period of two years before they are considered on either list, right?”_

**Papa?! Who’s Papa?**

_The little girl nodded, curls bouncing as she did._

_“He did say that. But Daddy, does that go double for werewolf cubs? Vic said it did, but he does get things confused sometimes.  Did that happen for me too?”_

_If Stiles could have worked his jaw, it would have hit the floor._

**WEREWOLF CUBS?! Wow, my subconscious wants me to have werewolf babies!**

_Stiles' hand pulled on one of the girl’s-little Ollie’s-curls._

_“It sure did! I’m not sure for it counting more though. Remember, werewolves-“_

_“-are humans too. I know Daddy.”_

_Stiles found he really liked this child with his eyes._

_His body stood up, and as he herded the girl back into her room (real Ollie’s office), he noticed a gold glint flash across the wall. The glint came from…_

**Is that a wedding ring? Holy God, it is! Wow, ok, so judging by girl!Stiles’ speech, I’m married to a dude. And have wolfie kids. Wow subconscious, that is a hell of a lot to take in! Either that, or Mrs. S laced my tea with LSD.**

_A fat black and white cat walked into the little girl’s room, and bumped it’s head against Stiles hand. Stiles hand pet the cat affectionately._

_“Hey Cricket. Done with scenting Papa and reporting for duty?”_

_“Mew.”_

_“Okay, you know the drill. Guard our girl with your life, and purr her to sleep. Got that?”_

_girl!Stiles-little Ollie-the kid giggled into her frilly red and yellow sleeve._

_“Daddy, you so silly!”_

_As Stiles’ body walked out of the room, he could have sworn the cat nodded at him in understanding._

**Weird ass dream. Defiantly could be LSD. Dad’s going to be livid.**

_Stiles’ body took a detour into the downstairs bathroom._

_Where he was greeted to rainbows and unicorns._

**Well, at least some things are the same.**

_Except…not. He was pretty sure Mrs.S didn’t have tub toys and children’s shampoo on the side of her bath tub._

_That thought flew out the window when he saw himself in the mirror._

_Staring back at himself, he saw that he looked older. He was wearing a terrible looking Christmas sweater, but he could see that under the bulky sweater were more muscles than he had at the moment. It was like his body filled out, and the baby fat was gone. Sure, he was still wirey, long and lean, but with the longer hair, a bare hint of stubble, and the small scar by his temple, Stiles only had one though._

**I AM HOT!**

_Drinking in every nuisance of his body, Stiles realized something odd._

_His body was just standing there, looking into the mirror. Almost like it was waiting for something._

_His face cocked an eyebrow and gave a small grin at himself._

_“Get your fill yet? I gotta admit, we’re a hot guy, aren’t we?”_

**Say what now?!**

_“Yeah, I know you’re there. I remember having this,” he made air quotes with his long fingers,” ‘dream’ a few years ago.”_

_He leaned closer and whispered into the glass, giving himself a wicked smirk._

_“Guess what Stilesey-boy? This isn’t a dream.”_

_If Stiles could move his body, he would have flailed, punched himself, and run away in fear._

_His body stood back and crossed his arms._

_“Go ahead. I remember freaking out. Take a moment to breathe, Me. This is really happening, or will happen.”_

_After a minute, Stiles’ body looked himself back in the mirror._

_“Okay, you know the rules of time travel, viewing the future, etc. You don’t have to worry about me, us, you, whatever, telling you something to cause problems in the space/time continuum. I promise, so you don’t have to close your ears and sing_ Ol’ Susanna _, okay?”_

_Stiles body, or, he guessed possible future!him rubbed the back of his neck and huffed out a laugh._

_“Alright. I can’t tell you any real detrimental info really, but I have to tell you something. It’s all going to be okay in the end. You are going to go through hell, but you get all of this. And my friend, all of this is perfection.”_

_Stiles watched his own face in the mirror, eyeing intently._

_“I will, however, give you some clues and tips, just to make sure you get on the right path. I remember me doing that, but, I would do it anyway in a heartbeat. This is our family, our Pack, our_ _loveStiles. I know me, and I know we would agree to do anything to protect the people we care about. If you knew and saw what I did, and knew what I knew, I know you will make the same choice I am now.”_

_Nervous but oh so curious, Stiles paid intent attention._

_“1.) Mrs. S is going to give you some of that God awful paste when you wake up and leave. For all that is good and Batman, put it in your backpack, you WILL need it!  2.) You are a cat person. So is Derek. More than anything Derek wants a cat for his birthday, but the idiot will never say anything. GIVE HIM A CAT. 3.) When Scott and All- no, Scott, just Scott, heh. Almost messed up there. When he is thinking of baby names for his first born, tell him that naming him after you is a no no. He will be surprised that you figured it out. Be flattered, but say no.  4.) You and Lydia are going to discover how to give a Beta back their golden eyes. You’ve already read about it, but just didn’t realize what you were reading. 5.) You and Jackson are going to become friends.”_

**What the f-**

_Stiles in the mirror held up his hands._

_“I know, I know, freaky crap, right? It’s true though. It’s you and Danny that bring him back from London. Okay, wait, something happens about now, but-“_

_“Stiles, who are you talking to?”_

_In the mirror, Stiles was seeing the most soul affirming, gorgeous, and heart stopping sight, but he could not believe his eyes._

_Derek Hale, disheveled and sleepy, stood in the doorway wearing a stained white t-shirt and boxers._

_As he stared into the mirror, drinking in the sight of a slightly older and off-guard former Alpha, he heard his body make an affirming ah-ha sound._

_“-that’s right. Past Stiles, meet your husband!”_

_If Stiles could have cried, he would have. Derek looked…he looked…so good. He was more relaxed than he had ever seen him, and he just looked so freakin’ beautiful. His husband. HIS husband. His HUSBAND!_

**I can’t …I-if this is the BEST dream ever, or the cruelest nightmare.**

_Stiles had known for a long time about his feelings for the gray-green eyed wolfman, but to have it thrown in his face? To have his wildest fantasies looking so real and tangible? He was pretty sure, if he had control of his body, that he would either climb Derek like a tree, or be on the verge of a panic attack._

_Derek walked in and wrapped his arms around Stiles body._

_“Talking to yourself? Have you become that narcissistic?”_

_Stiles’ body kissed Derek’s stubbed cheek. Even though he had no control of his actions, Stiles could still feel. He felt like he could swoon over the feel of scratchy skin against his lips._

_“We both know that you are the more better looking of the two of us, Sourwolf.”_

_Derek rolled his eyes, but then kissed the side of Stiles neck._

_Stiles’ could feel all of it._

_“Once again, you obviously do not see yourself clearly, Tech.”_

**Tech? Derek knows my name?! He calls me Tech?! He gave me a pet name?!  Oh God, I need to wake up! I don’t want to, but Oh God I need to!**

_“So, what’s going on?” Derek asked with a raised eyebrow._

_Stiles’ body tilted his head towards the mirror._

_“You, ah, remember me telling you about that weird dream I had?”_

_Derek stilled, eyes flashing gold in the mirror._

_“Like, right now?”_

_“Yeeeep.”_

_Derek looked intently into his eyes in the mirror. Stiles swore that Derek could actually see the disembodied him._

_“Can he…do you remember if you could feel what happened?”_

_“I’m pretty sure I could-oh wait, I remember! You’re gonna-“_

_Derek spun Stiles around, cupped his face with both hands, and claimed Stiles’ mouth in a slow, dirty, boilingly hot and tender kiss._

_Pulling away after a minute, Derek put his forehead on Stiles’, looking back deeply into his eyes._

_“I’ll love you. I-I already love you to the point of insanity in your time. We will have it all, and I will give you everything, all of me. It has to be you though, because I won’t think I deserve you. It’s still hard for me to believe I can be this happy, but it’s you. You make it all happen. Please, please do not give up on me. Take my hand, and kiss me like I just kissed you.”_

_Derek then stood back, cleared his throat, and walked out of the room._

_Turning back to the mirror, Stiles gave himself a smug look._

_“You are going to hit that. Daily and nightly, mmm hmm. You are also going to mate it and put a ring on it, so get ready homie.”_

_Derek popped his head back in._

_“Oh, so you ‘hit that’, huh?”_

_Stiles’ body looked down at his Tardis watch. One minute after midnight._

_He looked back in the mirror._

_“If you will excuse me…Me, I’m going to go give our husband a birthday BJ.”_

_A loud wail filled the hallway._

_Both men rolled their eyes._

_“Okay, after we check on Talia and Claude.”_

_Stiles felt himself hyperventilate._

**Holy S$@^, we name our twins after our moms? No, No Stiles, this is just a dream, do NOT get your friggen hopes u-**

_“Oh, and Stiles? Once more thing.”_

_Stiles’ body looked back at him in the mirror, proceeded to snap his fingers, making sparks fly out of his fingers, and winked._

**What the-**

_“It’s totally real, and we’re totally magic. So cool, right? Time to wake up!”_

* * *


	4. Mirrors and Little Red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wide awake, Stiles has to deal with his feelings the dream stirred within him. He also questions if the lady he thought of as an adopted grandma could be something more, and up to something.

“Wake up sweetheart. Wake up!”

A wrinkled hand gently shook Stiles on the shoulder, before the teen shot up from the couch. Due to the fact that Stiles was still wrapped up like a burrito, the blanket twisted in knots around his legs, forcing him to fall to the floor with a loud THUNK.

“Oh my heavens! Are you hurt dear?”

Still reeling from what he just experienced, Stiles crawled out of the blanket, got up on his hands and knees, and gave the house a good look.

Cats. Doilies. Ollie was an old lady, and not a tiny female version of himself.

Everything was back to normal. 

It had been a **dream**.

Even in his shock, his ADD kicked in and made him wonder if this is what Dorothy felt like waking up back in Kansas… 

…which made him think of Toto, and then an anxious moment of trying to locate the kitten that had been on his lap when he fell asleep. 

“Vojtech dear, are you alright?”

Looking up at Mrs. Sztuczka he realized that he didn’t have to worry. The kitten was in the older ladies hands, looking to be squirming to run free. Mrs. Sztuczka placed her on the floor to scamper off, before grabbing the discarded blanket to fold.

Stiles’ head was swimming with foggy confusion and shock, but he knew he had to rein it in. It had just been a dream. 

_A crazy, lovely, heartbreakingly real dream; but a dream nonetheless._

He took a deep breath and ran his fingers through his messy hair.

“Yeah, yeah sorry Mrs. S. You just startled me, I guess.”

Mrs. Sztuczka put the blanket on the couch and walked over to her armchair. She grabbed what Stiles realized was a stack of his, now dry clothes, and pushed them into his arms.

“I’m sorry to have wakened you dear, you looked like a sweet baby angel,” she said as she steered Stiles towards the bathroom, “but your father called and said you needed to get home. Never fret, he told me that your car was towed to the local garage, but you do need to run along.”

She hurried the teen to the bathroom, quite intent to keep talking until he was in there to change.

On the trek from the living room to the bathroom, Stiles got his mental barings together. He took note of everything she told him, but the cogs in his head were turning as she hurried him down the hall. 

If Scott had been the one to drink Mrs. Sztuczka’s strange tea and have had a dream like he just did, he would have chalked it all as a really odd dream and leave it at that.  Mrs. S’ was a sweet old lady, and had been their babysitter for most of their childhood. Scott would not have had a second thought about trusting that that was _all_ she was.

Stiles was not Scott though. In a world where werewolves were real, his former crush was a banshee, and his English teacher had been an evil druid serial killer, one could not be too careful.

Something was up with that tea. While he didn’t want to think anything bad about the lady that he saw as an adopted grandma, he needed to know if she put something strange in his cup, or if the place she bought the tea from had something supernatural going on. Sleep did not come easy to him, and it was sad to say, but Stiles knew for him to have fallen asleep like that, magic had to be involved. Before he could ask her, the little old Polish lady pat his head fondly, and shut the bathroom door in his face.

After throwing on his dryer-hot fresh clothes, he slipped on his trusty red hoodie, and gave himself a once-over in the mirror.

It was surreal to see himself in the same mirror that had been in his dream. The differences in his appearance, while small, were mentally jarring. 

Gone was the holiday sweater that looked like Kris Cringle threw up cliché Christmas cheer on it. 

Gone were the slight hint of stubble, the strong, lean muscles, and the small scar.

Gone was the handsome, older, cooler, _magical_ Stiles, somebody that he was irrationally jealous of, and somehow envious and hero-worshipping about.

He liked that Stiles, no, LOVED that Stiles. That Stiles was better than Batman, Spiderman, Superman, Captain America, Yoda, and The Doctor combined. He wanted to devote a blog to that Stiles. He wanted to wear that Stiles’ t-shirts.

 He was awesome, smooth as silk, dad of an amazing kid, and…

And…

Stiles looked over at his naked finger on his left hand.

That Stiles, that guy was Derek Hale’s husband. 

Derek Hale _loved_ that Stiles in his dream. The Derek Hale in his dream married that Stiles, had kids with that Stiles, got birthday BJs from that Stiles, and probably did crazy mundane things like make waffles and watch tv on a Saturday night with that Stiles.

That in itself made the honey-eyed teen feel like that that Stiles was magical, and so very lucky.

Looking in the mirror, in the real incandescent light of the bathroom, Stiles saw what was really there: a gangly, pale, useless, _boring_ 147 lb. teenager wearing a flannel shirt and a red hoodie.

He heard dream!Derek’s voice echo in his head. * _“I’ll love you. I-I already love you to the point of insanity in your time…”*_

Stiles punched the wall as quietly as he could.

“God Stilinki, keep it together! It was a dream! It was a dumb dream, and not what you need to focus on right now!”

It didn’t matter that it all looked and felt so real. It didn’t matter that he adored the shine in girl!Stiles’s eyes, or the heady feel and taste of dream!Derek’s lips and tongue on his mouth.

No, Stiles had two things he needed to concentrate on. He knew he needed to get back home and face his dad, preferably avoiding an awkward conversation about his kitchen antics with his best friend’s mom.

 First though, first he needed to have a talk with Mrs. Sztuczka. Dream or not, something was majorly off with that tea and how he fell asleep. As much as he wanted for the image of the innocent little old lady that he knew to stay that way, he needed some information.

Stiles opened the door with a new resolve, pushed all his other thoughts to the back of his brain.

He was Stiles Stilinski. He might not be as epic as what he subconscious would want him to be, but he was a persistent bugger.  He would find out what was going on.

“So Mrs. S, I gotta ask, what kind of tea was that? Because man, that really put me to sleep!”

Mrs. Sztuczka was in the kitchen, wrapping up a plate of meatloaf in plastic wrap. She put the plate on the counter, walked over to the cupboard, and took out a box of tea, shaking it in his direction.

 

“Orange Spice dear, with a dash of honey. Did you like it?”

Stiles nodded and mimed sipping from a tea cup.

“Oh-oh yeah. It was delicious. Practically _magical_. Where did you buy it?”

The old lady looked at the name on the box.

“I believe these are store brand tea bags. I need my glasses sweetheart, can you see what the label says?”

Stiles took the box of tea from the woman’s outstretched hands. Sure enough, they were the generic brand.

_Hmm…these are prepackaged. It would make the news if the processing plant produced a shipment of tea that was causing rapid sleep and strange dreams, so that’s out. So it’s either local and coming from that store…or Mrs.S put something in the mug. Crap._

Stiles was brought out of his thoughts when Mrs. Sztuczka grabbed his hand, closely inspecting his finger.

“Oh, my poor boy, we really need to put something on that cut. We don’t want it to get infected, do we?” With a jerk, the teen was pulled over to the kitchen sink, where the small yet strong older woman stuck his hand under the running faucet.

“Luckily for you, young man, the paste has cooled and been jarred!”

Stiles wildly waved his other hand. “That’s fine! I’ll just put some Neosporin and a Band-Aid on it when I get home-“

“Nonsense! Bah, Neosporin has nothing on the paste!”

Stiles sighed and resigned himself to smelling like pickled cabbage.

“Okay, alright. Thank you Mrs. S.”

Wrapping a paper towel over the one hand, she handed him a jar of the suspicious looking yellow-green goop that he was used to in the other.

“You just wait right there Vojtech, I’m going to go get some Band-Aids from the medicine cabinet.”

He waited, whistling and shuffling his feet, until the timeworn Polish woman came back, holding a box of _Batman_ Band-Aids in triumph.

“Ha! I knew I still had these in there somewhere. I used to have to buy a new box every other week, the way you and Scooter played!”

He would have liked to point out that nearly half of those incidences had to do with cat scratches, but he just smiled fondly at her excited crinkly face.

Whatever was happening, whatever she did or did not do to his tea, she obviously cared about him and Scott.

Taking the jar from his hand, she motioned for him to sit at the kitchen table. As she set out the supplies and placed his hand palm up on the table surface, she took the lid off the highly pungent paste.

“You know, Vojtech, this very old recipe from our ancestors was not originally supposed to treat everyday things like this?”

He had heard her say something like this before, but it was something in her offhand, yet quietly serious demeanor that made him indulge her.

“Yeah? What was it made for then?”

In the sanctuary of the kitchen in the house by the woods, Ollie Sztuczka looked up at the young man she was treating, a twinkle in her eyes making her seem to him like a young, impish sprite with a thousand secrets behind her lips.

“Not for the everyday man, oh no. This paste,” she motioned as she spread the goo onto Stiles’ cutlery wound, “was actually created for a smaller portion of the population.”

This intrigued Stiles. In all of his years hanging around his former babysitter, she had never mentioned anything like that. She had always told him and Scott it was an old recipe for many medicinal purposes.

Stiles scooted his chair closer, ducking his head to her eye level.

“What smaller portion?”

She smiled and winked him, opening the Band-Aid package.

“The really hairy kind. “

Stiles shoulders slumped in disappointment, but he tried to cover it up with a chuckle.

“Ha! Yeah, the Polish are known to be a little hairy, from what I’ve heard. I’ve seen some pictures in the family albums of my great Uncle Radoslaw. I gotta tell you, pretty impressive beard, and his eyebrows put a friend of mine’s to shame! Wow, I’m being homoeopathically treated with brylcream!”

She giggled, pulling the protective paper off the back of the Band-Aid. 

“There is nothing wrong with being of the hairy kind, young man. Don’t make fun. But, let’s just hope for your children’s sake that they don’t inherit your great Uncle’s unfortunate eyebrows.”

_*“Okay, after we check on Talia and Claude.”*_

Stiles flinched and felt his heart throb as he tried to shake off the sound of phantom babies in his ears.

_“Now is not the time for this. It was a DREAM.”_

Mrs. Sztuczka carried on, unaware of the turmoil going on in Stiles’ head and heart.

“Well young man, Mnich Odwrót was a...removal treatment of sorts, known to really help out the hairier people of Europe, like many members of my own family. It was purely by accident during World War II, when supplies were low, that Mnich Odwrót was found to actually heal the common man.”

Clasping Stiles hand in her weathered palms, she brought the affected finger to her lips, kissed it and sang.

”Mnich odwrót, działać działać działać!”

She then wrapped it in a _Batman_ band-aid. 

”There now! It should heal up quite nicely.”

Stiles gave her a sad smile.

”Mom used to do that. The kiss thing to ‘boo-boos’.”

She looked back into his honey-colored eyes, and pat his shoulder.

”That’s because she understood the magic a kiss can hold. Really, it’s the only way Mnich odwrót works. Without a healing kiss, all it is really is smelly cabbages, vinegar, and herbs.”

Stiles got up out of his chair. ”I’ll remember that the next time I have a sun burn. ‘Will not work unless I kiss after applying.”

”Oh no dear, ”she said as she handed him the wrapped plate with the box of tea on top, ”in that case, you need somebody to kiss you.”

A shrill ringing of the house phone intterupted them. Mrs. Sztuczka picked up the turquoise wall [hone to answer it.

“Hello? Oh yes Sheriff, he’s awake. He was just about to go…oh, is everything alright? Oh, alright then, I’ll make sure to tell him.”

Stiles felt a weight drop in the pit of his stomach.

_She asked him if everything is alright? Why would she ask that?_

“What’s going on?”

“Oh, that was just your father dear, saying that you really need to run along right now. He said to tell you that Scooter called, but you forgot your phone at home. Apparently the message is urgent, and that your help is needed at the Animal Clinic? I didn’t know you volunteered there!”

Stiles felt his eyes widen, adrenaline flow, and heart ramp up into a frantic pace.

Urgent. Scott called him, saying that he needed him to get to the Animals Clinic? He knew the code. That meant people were hurt. Bad. 

He needed to grab his special ‘Supernatural First Aid Kit’ and get his ass over there!

“Oh, wow! Okay Mrs.S, I really need to go! It sounds like Scott’s having…trouble giving puppies shots! Yeah! So, thank you so much, but I have to run!”

Ushering the young man to the door, she stopped him to pull up his hood before he walked out.

“There now, I have not gone to all this trouble for you to catch a cold Vojtech.”

Trying his best to hide the ever amounting levels of panic rising in his system, Stiles shot her a small grin. He would have to question her more about the tea later, whatever was going down took priority.

“Thank again Mrs. S, and Merry early Christmas.”

Before he left, he heard the little old woman giggle, and she picked up the small black and white kitten form earlier and tapped him on the shoulder.

“What?”

“Oh nothing really…it’s just, isn’t Little Red Riding Hood supposed to go to grandma’s with goodies from home, and not the other way around?”

Stiles looked down at his hoodie, shrugged, and pet the kitten one last time.

“Where’s the fun in that though, right? Besides, I’m a guy, so some things are backwards in that scenario.”

The kitten purred and but her head against Stiles palm, before Mrs. Sztuczka pulled away to close the door.

“Hmm. You have me there. Perhaps, though, those were not the only things the Grimm Brothers got backwards or wrong. Bye dear!”

Before Stiles could reply to her rather veiled and mysterious comment, the elder woman closed the door, taking the kitten with her with a protesting ‘mew’.

Stiles stood on the porch of the red Victorian house for a minute, trying to piece together his thoughts, before breaking out into an all-out run down the street.

His dad was already waiting for him in the driveway when he got home, holding out his backpack to him.

“Dad, what happened?!”

The sheriff pressed the backpack into his hands.

“I’ll explain everything on the way. Go grab the First Aid kit, and Deaton also wants you to bring all of your ‘special’ collection of herbs.”

Taking the backpack and jumping clear over the porch steps to get to the door faster, Stiles turned back to his dad in surprise.

“All of them?! Deaton wants me to bring all of them?!”

_Oh this is bad. So very, very bad._

With a little bit of Deaton’s guidance, and his and Lydia’s natural curiosity, the two of them had compiled a rather large collection of types of wolfsbane, rowan wood, and some other plants that have said magical purposes. Not only were they meant to be for study, they also collected them to have around, just in case of bad S4!7 going down.

Well apparently ’just in case of bad s4!7’ was ‘right the hell NOW’!

Stiles first ran to the linen closet, and grabbed his supernatural First Aid kit from under the guest sheets and blankets. He then sprinted into his room, dropped to the floor, and grabbed the locked and air tight sealed box from under his bed. As he was stuffing both things into his backpack, he felt something rolling out from his front hoodie pocket.

Upon closer look, he realized it was a jar of Mnich Odwrót.

_Mrs. S must have put this in there when I was not looking._

He was just about to leave it on his bed, when he remembered his dream again.

*” _For all that is good and Batman, put it in your backpack, you WILL need it!”*_

“STILES! Son, the cruiser is on! We need to go NOW!”

On the fence what to do, Stiles decided to go with his gut. Unzipping the front pocket of his backpack, he put Mrs. S’ paste in, and zipped it up.

It couldn’t hurt, right?

* * *

 


	5. Wolfbane and Candy canes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a brief panic, Stiles gets to the vet clinic to find an injured Derek. Everyone fills him in on the sinister plot he was supposed to be a piece in. Oh, and Santa's Elves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARING! Please read. Stiles begins to have a panic attack in this chapter. Having had panic attacks before, this is what it felt like for me, and might be what it feels like for some of you. Use caution reading if this bothers you. Thank you.

The sheriff had tried to catch his son up on the situation of the drive to the animal clinic, but his answers were jumbled and missing key points of what had gone down, and what kind of damages he was going face walking into the clinic.

According to his dad, from the information he got from Scott’s limited phone call, there were some seedy hunters at the Mall. He, Derek, Isaac and Allison had followed the hunters into the Preserve after leaving the Mall. It turned out to be a trap involving them having to dodge being **blown up** along with the seedy hunter van, being shot at, and something about…candy cane rockets? (The sheriff shook his head at that one, but swore that’s what Scott said.)

 Despite the crazy psychos’ attempts at taking his Packmates down, they were defeated, hog-tied (thank you Allison), and sitting in a jail cell, waiting on the sheriff to rip them a new one.

They won the fight and avoided the explosion…but not without someone getting injured in the process.

Badly.

When he tried to press his dad on just who got hurt and how bad, his dad had said that he was not sure, but guessed that Scott had to be relatively okay because he had called him.

That left Isaac, Allison and Derek being the possibly hurt. While Stiles was thrilled that the wolf he loved like a brother seemed relatively unscathed, it did mean that another member of his pack was wounded.

Judging from the fact that Deaton requested him to bring ALL of his secret first aid stash, and Allison was human, that left Isaac and _Derek_.

As much as he didn’t want Isaac getting hurt, (they were friends after all), the thought of Derek being the one that got _Deaton,_ the mysterious magical expert Vet, to ask for help from Stiles, normal, hyper teenage human, started to make his vision go fuzzy and dark on the sides.

Just as Stiles panicked guilt was about to choke him, the sheriff pulled into the vet’s parking lot.

The sheriff unbuckled both their seatbelts and placed his hands on his son’s shoulders, staring into his eyes with determination.

“No Stiles, I know that look on your face, and I will not allow it. Do you hear me son? You had nothing to do with this, or anyone getting hurt.”

Stiles felt his eyes sting as he looked down at his jean covered knee. His throat was starting to close up, making him pant and gulp for shallow breaths.

_I should have been there…Where is all the air going?_

“Yeah, exactly! I had… nothing to do with it…because I didn’t have my… phone on me! They called me Dad, you said so… yourself. How could I… be so stupid?”

John shook Stiles firmly, but not harshly.

“You are not stupid, and you did nothing wrong! Breathe in an out slowly. That’s it. Now those criminals attacked in broad daylight, which could have happened at any time. It is not your job to be on guard twenty-four hours a day. That’s mine buster. “

Stiles looked back up into his dad’s eyes, feeling his lungs start to expand and work more properly again.

“You hear me Stiles? What you need to focus on is that your friends are in there, and need you to help them. Get in there and do what you do best.”

Taking a few more calming breaths, Stiles gulped down the salvia gathering in his mouth, and squared his shoulders.

“Yeah, you’re-you’re right. Thanks dad.”

With that, the sheriff squeezed Stiles’ shoulders one more time, before tossing him his backpack from the backseat.

As the sheriff drove off to meet with Chris Argent at the Sheriff’s department, he unwrapped the plate Stiles brought from his neighbor’s, and took a huge bite of the all-real beef and fatty goodness of Mrs. Sztuczka’s meatloaf.  Stiles would not have approved, but sometimes a man needed real meat, like on days like he was having.

Between doing last minute Christmas shopping with Melissa, having some private adult time with Melissa ,(which made him cringe, because he was **sure** Stiles’ phone and backpack were not there before), and all of this mess with the hunters, a man could use some serious protein.

Taking another bite, he smiled to himself.

“She always seems to know just when I need a good meatloaf.”

* * *

 

 Scott’s message to the sheriff to give to Stiles was, well… **severely lacking**.

Sure, when he walked in he was expecting some heinous, unknown disasters and bloodshed, as well as some more in depth paranormal details.

Nothing could have prepared him for what his eyes saw, or the words Scott and Isaac told him, as they caught him up.

 

“Let me get this straight, not only were the Mall elves from Santa’s Workshop hunters, but _magic-wielding_ hunters?!” Stiles said as he rushed behind his best friend, carrying his bag-o-tricks as they burst back into the exam room.

The first thing he saw was Lydia and Cora in the back corner of the room, anxiously flipping through and scanning the pages of Deaton’s dusty tomes. Stiles was about to walk over when his eyes fell to a diligently working Deaton and, the occupant of the exam table in the middle of the room.

Upon the exam table was a prone, shirtless, former Alpha. He was on his stomach, arms hanging limply off the sides of the table, and had a huge black-veiny wound on the upper left side of his back.

Close to his heart.

Stiles felt his feet glue to the floor, staring at the mentally confusing and jolting sight.

_No, this is Derek Hale, my…strike that, master dramatic Sourwolf! He has muscles on his muscles, a degree in dry wit, and eats courage and fortitude for breakfast! Derek Hale should never look so vulnerable and helpless. Never._

Something was boiling within him, something angry, bright hot, and strong.

_Those hunters better be thankful they are dealing with Dad and not me. Magic wielding? Iron is known for f’in up the magic in magical creatures like fairies. I bet an iron bat to the chest could take them down a peg or two. Thank you budget cuts leaving the old holding cells that are made of iron bars._

 

“Stiles!” Deaton called, looking relieved to see him, (and freaking out Stiles more, because it had to be bad if not only was Deaton happy to see him, but he was emoting) , “did you bring yours and Lydia’s wolfbane collection?”

Stiles swallowed the rising bile in his throat looking at Derek’s wound, and unfroze. Snapping into rapid action, Stiles brandished the air-tight box from his bag, and held out his hand.

“Lydia, key me please!”

Both Lydia and Stiles had decided that it was the best option to have their valuable collection and the key in two different places. Through their findings, and internet orderings of the rare plants and objects, they were aware that many people, bad and good, would go to great lengths to get what they had. Since Lydia’s mother’s house had a maid, they decided the best option was to store everything at Stiles’ house, while Lydia would wear the key in some form of creative fashion or another.

Pulling out the bejeweled hairclip from her hair, Lydia slid the key from its fitted groove hiding place, and handed it to Stiles.

As Stiles opened the box and pulled out the vials from their organized compartments, everyone took turns filling Stiles in on everything that happened.

According to Scott, Derek had been at the Mall getting his Secret Santa gift, when he noticed something strange about the elves. Well, strang _er_. 

If they had been suspicious before, with their seeming to disappear in a cloud of glitter and the weird language they chanted over their coffee when they thought nobody could hear them, (newsflash, werewolves have super hearing), then the blatant staring at Derek and watching him was a dead giveaway.

Besides the staring, the elves had been acting…more odd than usual.  The one that handled the camera kept checking her phone and whispering to the others when the werewolf came close.

Stiles felt the urge to get that iron bat and pay the hunters a visit when he learned that Derek overheard part of their plan.

The friggen elves were the reason his Jeep died!

“They messed with my baby?! I’m going to kill them!” Stiles cried in outrage, arms flying sharply through the air.

(He denied to himself that his heart referred to both his Jeep and _Derek_ in that sentence _. Not going to happen, ever. JUST A DREAM STILES!_ )

Santa’s main helper elf that Stiles liked to call Twinkles, told the camera elf (Stiles called Photobug) that he “took care of the human boy’s Jeep” on his break, while he, Isaac, Cora and Lydia had been in the library. 

But something had gone wrong.  

They knew that he was supposed to come to the Mall, where the Jeep was supposed to stall out, so they could take him to bait Derek. Instead, for some technical glitch, it broke down on the side of the road. The third elf, a cute looking lady with a ginger pixie cut who would send Cora flirtatious winks when she was near that part of the Mall, told them not to worry, that the Hale was present, so they could leave and he would follow.

Especially if they knew where “the human boy” was, and he didn’t.

The three cheerfully red and green dressed elves piled into an old Volkswagen van, Derek following close behind. He knew that it could be a trap, so he tried to call Stiles. When he didn’t answer he called for backup.

When they both came across the Jeep on the side of the road, it was along with the tow company, sans Stiles. Knowing by their faces that they were pissed that Stiles was not with his Jeep and nowhere in sight, Derek continued to follow them…only to feel his stomach turn to lead when he saw that they were heading for the Preserve.

Definite trap.

Derek let the others know, and held back until they showed up.

What kind of business did the strange Mall elves have in the woods? Nothing good it turned out.

Some villainous monologuing later, the humans disguised as elves revealed themselves to being some old friends of Kate Argent.

Friends that did not follow the code, and did not take her death too kindly.

They had planned to kidnap Stiles, chain him to the inside of their pedo van, and have Derek try to rescue him.

Oh, by the way, the van, which held all of their vast amounts of ammo, (ammo filled with wolfbane), and weapons, was rigged with explosives! They were going to set Stiles and Derek off like roman candles on the 4th of July!

Plans somewhat fworted when their bait was so rude not to show up and cooperate, the fake!elves of Psychotown decided to go with plan B.

What was plan B? Oh yes,  ambush the Pack, trap them, hurt them, and go ahead a blow up the van anyway.

In the midst of the fighting, one side fang and claw, the other…glitter and guns, (seriously, what the hell?), Ginger elf!hunter got out her special crossbow, a gift from her dearly departed crazy ass murderous friend, and shot Derek in the back with a wolfbane laced arrow.

That turned out to be a big mistake on their part. Distracted, telling Derek how much she would enjoy watching him suffer before watching him and most of his Pack **burn** to death, Scott got the upper hand, giving Isaac and Allison a chance to take the other two down.

It was while Allison was hog tying the hunters and calling Chris Argent for help that the explosiion happened.

 Scott had been tending to Derek’s non-healing wound, and told Isaac to go to the van and get one of the same arrowheads used to infect Derek, when Twinkles slipped his hand into the back of his jeans.

Scott said it was all a big blur, but he swore that Twinkles pulled out a gigantic candy cane. But it was not a candy cane. Oh no, this candy cane was actually a sugary looking rocket launcher, targeted at the van.

The van with Derek’s possible antidote.

Before Twinkles could be stopped, he shot the candy cane missile at the van, and KABOOM!

Thankfully they were just far enough away to avoid the blast.

“Now you get to watch your Alpha die a slow, painful death, like he deserves.” the hunter told Scott with a smirk, obviously not understanding that Derek was not an Alpha anymore, and that he was actually talking to the Alpha wolf of the pack.  Those were the last words the hunter said before Isaac walked up and knocked him out.

Caught up, Stiles looked to Scott and Deaton.

“Okay, so, that’s what all this is for? We don’t know which type of wolfbane was used in the arrowhead, so we’re going to try them all?”

Deaton nodded, looking slightly impressed, picking up two of the vials and holding them to eye level.

“Right on the head, Stilinski. I took a sample from the residue from Derek’s wound. I need to compare that type of wolfbane to any of the ones in these vials. Hopefully we have it, and find it quickly. “

Derek’s fingers spasmed, and he let out a pained, wheezy grunt.

Unable to control himself, Stiles grabbed the prone man’s hand, soothing the palm with his thumb and earning some raised eyebrows and surprised looks from his friends.

Hey, he might not be a werewolf and have that pain-taking mojo, but human touch could help.

(He would also be damned to let Derek suffer alone.)

Deaton continued, looking even more worried.

“We are racing the clock here. We are lucky that the hunter was not the best shot, because I think they were aiming for his heart. Nevertheless, the wound is close to the heart, so we only have an hour, possibly two, before it reaches.”

Stiles knew what that meant. If the wolfbane reached his heart…

Pop goes the wolfie, Derek is dead as a doornail.

_No. No, I refuse. Damn it, I will NOT watch someone else I love wither and die!_

And there it was. Deny it all he liked, he could not hide the name tattooed on his heart. It didn't matter what Derek felt towards him, the hot werewolf was his endgame. No, there was no point in denying his heart,  there was a great chance he was going to lose the man he loved forever.

Stiles squeezed his hand once more, before laying his arm on the table. The honey-eyed teen clapped his hands and ran his fingers through his spikey hair.

“Well, let’s get crackin! Lydia, empress of all things intellectual and I have some of the rarest types of wolfbane here. We’re bound to have the right one!”

* * *

 


	6. Botany loving elf and Sparks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Pack find out more about one of the fake!elves, and talk about a possible cure for Derek, who's time is running out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the kudos, and a special thank you and *hug* to LadyOfTheWindDweller, for the lovely reviews! =D The plot thickens in this chapter!

They didn’t have the right one.

Well, truth was, there was no possible way they could have had the right kind. Sure, he and Lydia managed to collect some pretty rare types of wolfbane.

They, however, had never thought to try and collect _extinct_ varieties. 

After Deaton and Scott went through half of their collection with a microscope, while he and Cora wiped Derek’s brow and tried to prevent infection setting in, they got a call from Allison. She was on her way from the Sheriff’s Station, where her father and the Sheriff had been in the interrogation room.

After pressing all three of the rogue magical hunters, the softest one, Photobug, (read: real name Tatiana Hendrix) finally caved in. As it turned out, from her own account and from Stiles’ dad looking up her records, young Ms. Hendrix was not actually a hunter, but on the National missing person list. Unlike her other to fake elfie brethren, she didn’t even know Kate Argent, and up to that point in her life, had never even been involved in the supernatural.

Tatiana was a chemistry major at UCLA, with a flair and love for botany from growing up in her parents floral shop.

Her downward spiral came from when her boyfriend (read: Twinkles aka Trenten Nieber), a local who she met at the gym she took a yoga class at, and his friends introduced her to the world of magic. 

Not the nerdy card game you can buy in hobby shops while your buddies talk about the merits of D&D, oh no, the real kind that people like Deaton and Morell would scold you not to mess with. 

Being a scientific type and a person who did not come to magic naturally, she quickly became addicted to the practice, studying the effects it had, and what she could do with it. It was like a drug. Like most drugs though, it took more and more to get her fix, because she did not have any power of her own, and relied on borrowed powers, talismans, and potions. It was Nieber’s  “business partner”, (read: ginger!elf aka…really named Ruby Melfson, who would have thought?), who promised that if Hendrix helped her and Nieber with a side job they were doing, she could make sure she had all of the magical artifacts to experiment on her plants for a long time.

It sounded too good to be true.

It was.

Tatiana had no idea what she was getting into. At first, all she was told to do was to cultivate a plant that had been extinct from some seeds, using a secret greenhouse hidden in the woods behind Melfson’s house.

At first she was excited about the scientific ramification of the work she was doing. Small college girl, bringing back an extinct plant, trying to make it better and stronger than it was before.

Things got harder when she started having to miss classes due to babysitting the plants and exhaustion of constantly taking care of the fragile foliage. As if the wolfbane knew what kind of Frankenstein’s monster it was going to become, it didn’t seem to want to grow. It was like pulling teeth, but with lots of care, time, and trial and error, she finally got a small crop of the revamped wolfbane. By then, she was living in Melfson’s guestroom, working around the clock in the greenhouse, and had all but unofficially dropped out of school and lost all contact with her parents and friends back home in Texas. Still, she was proud of her accomplishment, basking in the pride her boyfriend showered her, and was excited about her promised rewards.

Then one day by accident, she overheard her Nieber and Melfson talking in the kitchen about what her plant was going to be used for. Just having learned that werewolves existed and that Trenton and Ruby explained themselves to be kinda supernatural police, she overheard how “their” miracle plant was going to “obliterate” the masses, starting with Hale and his pack as their first test subjects.

 Feeling a sense of dread and fear, she made an excuse the next day that the plants were not ready to be picked and processed. Policing a group of raging paranormal people was one thing, but Tatiana was not okay with her plants being used for mass genocide! It took her all night, but she came up with a serum she injected into the aconite that she hoped would make it not as potent as it was expected to be.

She found out that her serum was partly effective. When fresh-picked and newly processed, the wolfbane was the strongest type and more deadly than any other ones the hunters have used in the past. However, much to the annoyance to Melfson and Nieber, the powered aconite had a ridiculously short shelf life of about a week and a half. The most it could do after that time period, even shot into a werewolf’s heart, was give them an irritating skin rash.

Not suspecting that Hendrix sabotaged her own hard work, the hunters decided that while the wolfbane was a bust, they would use what they had left and get Hale and his pack back for Kate’s murder. Since it had to be carefully timed just right so for the wolfbane to be in tip top slaughtering shape, Tatiana was forced to go along and help with their plan. 

They decided to get jobs at the Beacon Hills Mall as Santa’s elves to help keep a cheerful and low profile, and to also store the plants in one of the fake display gingerbread houses, until it was time to put their plan into action.

She thought Derek was a terrible beast that killed an innocent friend. 

She thought his pack would be the same too. 

But like most kindergarteners learn, a stranger isn’t somebody running around in shady glasses and black trench coats. Like having the opposite effect, she found the Pack to be…normal, and even kind. 

She was horrified to learn that there were humans that they were going to kill, and that the main plan was to kidnap the town’s Sheriff’s human son and kill him along with Alpha Hale. 

Tatiana realized that she was with the **real** monsters, and had no way to get away from them.

Seeing as that she was probably the only one who could help them, the Sheriff and Mr.Argent cut her a deal. If she cooperated in helping save Derek’s life and surrendered what was left of the plants and whatever else came with them, then they would help her return home with a good story on record so she could go back to living a normal life. (With Chris and Allison checking up on her from time to time, of course)

She told them the location of the greenhouse, as well as told them about the false wall in Santa’s Workshop, but warned them that they blew everything up in that van. She did, however, give Allison the vial from her green frilly vest, filled with the serum that she used on her plants. While it was not a cure, it would slow down the process, to buy them more time to save Derek.

Stiles had to turn his head when Deaton injected the serum into Derek’s arm. 

_Needles…Oh God don’t look. Don’t pass out, and no throwing up! Too much of that going on already!_

Despite not being able to watch the sharp pointy thing go into the dying man he loved, Stiles found his fingers interlocked with the ones on the former Alpha. It had happened so instantly, like puzzle pieces fitting into place, or the snap of a glow stick illuminating the dark. One minute Derek gained consciousness only to groan in pain and throw up black sludge into the waiting pan Cora was holding out for him, flexing his hand out weakly but desperately as if he was reaching for _something,_ the next Stiles found his hand swooping to fit their palms together tightly. It seemed to be the right thing to do, because Derek instantly calmed and even managed to barely squeeze his fingers back.

Still looking away, Stiles locked his eyes with Lydia’s. In that instant Stiles knew that she could read everything from his posture to the look on his face. She didn’t need to look into his mind or hear the beat of his heart, to know who it beat for. 

_She knows. Of course she knows. This is the brilliant girl who brought Jackson back to life with the power of LOVE, like in a freakin’ fairytale. Heartache knows heartache. Like knows Like…if only I could save Derek the same way…_

In that moment, Lydia lifted her chin, squared her perfect shoulders, and became his heroine. 

“Okay, play time is over boys. No offence Dr.Deaton, but now that we have a short window of time, we need to consider some of the alternative medicine I found in this book.”

Lydia flopped the old tome on the tray table, and pointed to a scrawled text in Latin. 

Stiles head jerked up and looked down at the book, Scott leaning over his shoulder to get a better look.

Stiles looked from the strawberry-blonde Goddess to the mysterious vet. “Wait, so there is an alternative medicine, and we’re just hearing about this **now**?!”

Scott looked perplexed. “I thought only matching burned wolfbane could stop the poisoning?”

Deaton sighed, shot Lydia a look, and rubbed his chin.

“Ms. Martin and I have been talking about this for some time. There was, stressing the word _was_ , an alternative cure, but the formula has been lost for decades. The cure was a potion made by eastern European witches that belonged to werewolf Packs, but were hunted down around World War II, and after when they were found out to be “Pack Witches”.”

Scott’s brow furrowed. “Were they like Emissaries and Druids?”

Deaton shook his head as he anxiously looked down at the book. “Yes and no. While a witch in a Pack could be an Emissary, they were not Druids, unless they trained to be. Witches, in and out of werewolf Packs, are _born_ and have to learn to harness and control their spark of magic. Being a Druid is a practice, a knowledge, and a way of life-“

Stiles felt his eyes widen when Deaton said the word “spark”. Stiles always assumed that when Deaton said he had a “spark”, that it meant he, as a human, had a tiny, itty bitty bit of magic, but he would have to do because nobody else could have handled the mountain ash.

_Oh my God, does that make me Hermione Granger?!_

His mind jumped back to his dream, sparks flying from older!Stiles fingers.

* _“It’s totally real, and we’re totally magic. So cool, right?”*_

Deciding to put those thoughts on the back burner for the moment, Stiles tuned back in.

 

  Deaton contined. “- I have a general idea of what goes in it, but while I have tried many times, I can’t seem to get it right, even with Lydia’s help. We don’t have the time for me to experiment. Unless you know an eastern European witch that lived around World War II with experience with werewolves, or one trained by one, we need to continue with trying to find a similar wolfsbane until we can get the kind the hunters used.”

Cora growled low from Derek’s other side, angry flashing eyes trying and failing to mask her pain and fear for her brother.

“That will take even longer, and he will be dead by then! What choice do we have left? If you know something that could save him, SAVE HIM!”

“She’s right,” Lydia said, “from what that girl told the Sheriff and Mr. Argent, we have to assume there is no more left. I know we have not figured out the right proportions, and I know you are apprehensive trying to make it again, but really, what choice do we have?”

Deaton anxious face looked to Scott, seeming to need his word, his guidance for once.

“What do you think we should do Scott?”

“I’ll call Allison and see if they have found anything yet. In the meantime, maybe you can try to make it? What do we have to lose?”

_Besides Derek? Nothing._

Trying for a lighter mood, Stiles rubbed his thumb across Derek’s, and put a optimistic grin on his face.

“I’m with my man Scott here. Also, you’ve never had my awesome brain on this case! Maybe I can crack the code, and we can save Sourwolf and have another tool to save a wolf’s life from wolfsbane poisoning!”

Of course Derek had to ruin the moment by throwing up black sludge again, pallor going grey instead of the steady pale it had been minutes before, reminding everyone how little time he had left.

Deaton checked his wound with the dark spidery veins over, only to look back up with his mouth in a grim line.

“It appears that the serum has done all it can. We really need to heal Derek, and soon.”

Nodding to himself, the vet walked hurriedly over to his desk in his office, and came back with a pen and paper.

“Okay, if we are going to try to do this potion, we need supplies, because I don’t have any on hand.”

Scott nodded, eager to help and do something.

“Of course, I’ll go and get them! What do I need to get, and where?”

“Believe it or not,” Deaton said as he wrote down on the slip of paper, “everything we need is at the grocery store. The potion seemingly has ordinary ingredients, we just need to figure out how much to use of each.”

Deaton sighed out in mild distress.

“We are going to need so many cabbages.”

_Whoa, what?_

Stiles eyes widened, then narrowed, while Scott froze next to him.

The honey-eyed teen held up his hand not attached to Derek. “Wait Doc, did you just say cabbages?”

* * *

Kudos and reviews = Love  



	7. Lazy Monks and the Power of Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Realizations are made, and Stiles tries to save Derek's life...with the stinky cabbage paste, and maybe the power of love?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dearest Ollie. I am sorry, this was your Christmas gift, and it is waaay after Christmas. This story just kind of took on a life of it's own. I really hope you do not mind. *puppy eyes*
> 
> As for my other wonderful readers, I hope you are still enjoying this story! There is some more angsty moments, as well as hurt!Derek in this chapter, but it ends here! The question is though, will Stiles save Derek, or will he die? Stay tuned to find out! ;)

* * *

 

Deaton nodded, still not looking up from the paper he was writing on, unaware of the two boys looking at each other in incredulity and awe.

“Yes, it’s the main ingredient, along with onions, vinegar-“

-“and rosemary!” Scott breathed slack-jawed, looking at his non-blood brother in disbelief.

The scratching of the pen on the paper stopped mid letter. The vet’s head lifted slowly to meet with his favorite employee and friend.

“Yes. How did you know that Scott?”

A small, baffled, yet optimistic grin curved on the young Alpha’s face.

 “I, uh, think I’ve actually heard of it before?”

The Alpha turned this look to his best friend, the later still clutching to Derek’s hand like a surrogate lifeline.

“That sounds like the stinky cabbage stuff Mrs. S makes! The-uh, Polish Priest Vacation goo, right?!”

When they were little, Stiles would show Scott the translated stories from Mrs. S illustrated book, as well as show off his new Polish speaking/translating skills, (including he and Scott snickering over learned Polish swear-words, and dreams of going to Poland and order a Polish sausage).

Naturally, Scott asked him one day what the name of the paste really meant.

_“I think it means…monk retreat? Scotty, that’s just weird. I guess the guy who made this really wanted some va-ca time.”_

The two boys after that made fun of the name privately, (never in front of their parents, or God forbid their babysitter), because, come on, with a name _like Monk Retreat_ , what else could you do?

 

_“Uh oh, Stiles! Mrs. S gave Mom another jar of Polish Priest Vacation. “_

_“Just smile and nod when she gives the lazy monk stuff to you, and hide in the pantry like my dad and do.”_

Stiles heard Mrs. S’s sing-songy voice from earlier in the day in his ear.

 _*“Mnich_ _Odwrót, działać działać działać!”*_

_That means ,‘monk retreat, work work work.’Is it possible... was that a friggen spell?!_

The honey-eyed young man looked down at his injured finger, innocently clad in a Batman Band-Aid.

 Mrs. Sztuczka always said just how amazing the paste was, and how it could save lives.

Could it though?

_Wait, didn’t she say it was for a smaller part of the population? **The hairy type**?! _

Stiles felt his eyes bug out and breath catch in his throat.

_Oh my God!_

Had Mrs. S try to give him a clue?

Did he, Mr. Google-Fu, miss something so big and momentous?

Did Ollie Sztuczka know about werewolves, and how to heal them?

What Stiles and Scott had thought was a silly little verse about a monk wanting a vacation because he always had to do chores, took whole new meanings.

Stiles waved his free hand with the Band-Aid in Scott’s face in excitement, cogs in his head turning faster and faster.

“What if it isn’t just spiced-up boiled cabbage? What if it’s something more, something else entirely?”

_Monk, as in monkshood, as in **wolfsbane**. Retreat, as in reversing, instead of a holiday. Oh crap! It’s so obvious!_

Scott nodded, but still looked muddled and hesitant.

“But that would mean that Mrs. S is, like, some kind of witch? That can’t be right.”

Deaton’s forehead crinkled in confusion.

“Are you talking about Ollie Sztuczka?”

“The old cat lady?” Isaac added skeptically from the corner near the books.

That made Stiles deflate, arm lowering to his side.

Deaton was an expert on mystic things and what goes _Grr_ in the night. He had sensed that he had some magic bit in him, (though the size of that was debatable at the moment). If **he** didn’t think she was on Team Supernatural-

Deaton scratched his chin, deep in thought.

“That _would_ explain why she has been using a shielding spell, and her limit on familiars, I suppose.”

-okay, apparently he DID think she was.

Scott and every healthy werewolf turned to Stiles in alarm when they heard how rapid his heart rate ratcheted up.

_Holy God. Our babysitter’s a witch!_

With that thought in mind, a brief flash from his beautiful dream raced to the forefront of his mind.

_*“Once again, you obviously do not see yourself clearly, Tech.”*_

_If she’s a witch, that could mean the dream was-_

Derek, the real Derek, gave a weedy cry of pain from the table, index finger trembling in Stiles hold.

_Right. Not the time idiot! FOCUS!_

Cora slammed her hands on the table.

“He. Is. DYING. If you have a cure, or a possible one, USE IT, and use it now. I swear, if he dies while you all are ‘brainstorming’, I will rip you apart. With my teeth.”

_Yeah, she’s is definitely Derek’s sister. Also, could not agree with her more._

Before anything could be done, Derek all the sudden went very tense, then startlingly limp.

The scary Cora from a moment before, melted into a scared little girl with tears in her eyes.

“…Derek? Derek?!”

With tear stained eyes, she looked up angrily, yet somehow beseechingly at Deaton.

“His heartbeat is so weak. We have to do something now!”

Lydia grasped Stiles shoulder and turned him away from where he was staring down at the prone werewolf.

“Stiles, this is the only chance we have. That stuff, od-odz-whatever it is, how do you make it? We don’t have any time left.”

Scott piped up. “Mrs. S always makes it. I think I have some back home-oh no.” Scott’s face morphed from determined and hopeful to downright panic stricken. “Mom threw ours out last month! I remember, because she had me take out the garbage, and the paste leaked and got all over me.”

Isaac nodded in dismay. “You smelled like rotten pickles for a week.”

Deaton looked up from Derek’s body, shoulders slumped and face a mask of soft sorrow.

“By the time you would have gone and come back from you house Scott, he would be gone. I think our time is up.”

Cora growled in dismay over her big brother’s shoulder, as Stiles shook his head.

“No. No way, hell no! We’ve got time! If we don’t then I will MAKE time!”

Stiles gripped Derek’s hand with both of his, holding so tightly he feared he might break his bones. He knew though, he knew Derek would need that, to know how serious he was. Crouching down by Derek’s face, Stiles leaned in close, determined to get the message across.

“Listen here Derek. I have not saved your hot wolfy ass time and time again to watch you die. You hear mean, Big Guy? You’ve gotta hold on a little bit longer, okay?” Stiles smoothed a hand over the wolf’s strong brow. As if gathering all the little bit of strength he had left, Derek cracked his eyes open to slits, but managed to lock eyes with the hyper teen.

Seeing this, that he had Derek’s attention, and well as his hand cradled in his, he squared his shoulders, and whispered the rest to the man he loved.

“I swear, if you die, I don’t know how I’ll cope. I know I will punch your dead nuts so hard you will feel it in the afterlife, though. You hear me? Hold the eff on, because I am going to save you Derek, just like I always do, and always will. Hold on, alright?

It could have just been an exhale, but from the way Scott gasped and shot his eyes towards his best friend, Stiles was pretty sure Derek whispered, “a’ight, Tech.”

_Tech?! He knows my real name? Just a dream? NOT NOW DAMMIT!_

Stiles shook his head, and gave Derek’s hand one more squeeze.

“I gotta let go for now, okay? I’m just going to go to my backpack, so don’t get any ideas of dying on me. I’m serious about punching your nuts.”

With that, Stiles shot up and scrambled to his backpack. Practically ripping the zipper off, he grasped the possible holy grail of werewolf medicine, and presented it to the group.

“No need to go over to my pantry, or get the fairy cat-mother, because I have the other glass slipper! I made this myself at Mrs. S’ house a few hours ago!”

“Oh thank God! Use it already, idiot!” Lydia exhaled noisily, a sentiment shared by Cora’s affirming sigh.

Stiles ran over and handed the jar to Deaton.

Deaton walked over to the exam table, and handed Stiles a pair of surgical gloved.

Stiles looked at the vet like he handed him a duck, and asked him to turn it into a banana split.

“Uh, whaaat Doc?”

“Stiles, because you were one to make it, and since you made it under the guidance of the possible witch, it should be **you** that administers the medicine.”

The teen shook his head, stomach roiling, as Scott (aka the traitor), gently pushed him toward Derek’s body.

“No way Doc, I’m not cut out for this! What if I do it wrong, or make it worse…”

Deaton gave him a reassured smile.

“There is not much you could do to make it worse. Think of it like when I told you how to use the mountain ash. Do _you_ believe this paste you made will heal Derek?”

Stiles looked down at the jar that was placed in his hand, and down at Derek’s back.

Could he do it? The truth was that he was not really sure. Derek, as well as the whole Pack, was counting on him to heal their fallen member. His own heart counted on him to save the wolf he loved, at whatever cost.

But could he do it?

Thinking of all the times he had not only saved Derek’s life before, and all the times Derek had returned the favor, Stiles knew he had his answer.

_This is what we do. It doesn’t matter if I’m just 147lbs of sarcasm and brains, or that I’m not as cool as my-maybe- subconscious/future self. This is a Stiles-and-Derek thing. Derek’s always got my back…and I save Derek’s ass when he gets into stupid situations. I think getting attacked, shot by, and nearly blown up by magical fake elf hunters constitute as a stupid situation._

Stiles took a deep breath, swallowing the rising bile at looking at Derek’s icky wound.

“Yeah. Yeah, I got this.”

As Stiles opened the lid of the jar and dipped his gloved fingers into the paste, Scott leaned over to Stiles ear.

“Dude…not the time, I know, but since when does Derek know your real name?”

Stiles shrugged, but felt, for the first time in hours, like smiling. He might hate his first name with a passion, but the idea of Derek knowing it, and making a pet name out of it, made his heart ache in such a good way.

_Come on Derek.  It might have been a dream, or maybe not, but we won’t know if you don’t hold the frig on. We could have something like that. You just have to live._

 

 

A few minutes later, after nearly gagging more than once while spreading the greenish-yellow paste on Derek’s back, Stiles and the rest of the room’s occupants waited on bated breath…only to see no change in the injury.

“It’s not working.” A worried young Alpha said as he looked down at his dying Beta.

“Just, give it more time. Just a little more time.” Stiles begged quietly. He was not sure who he was begging to: Scott or himself.

Lydia hesitantly placed her hand on his shoulder. “You did what you could, Stiles.”

By then, Cora was sitting almost catatonic in the chair next to her brother, Deaton was pacing, and Isaac was whimpering in the corner.

Were they wrong? Was Mrs. S really just a normal cat lady, making some silly old wives tale remedy?

Stiles ripped the gloves from his hands, and threw them angrily across the room, before running his hands through his hair and across his eyes.

Who was he kidding? The paste was a long shot, and so was he. He maybe had a tiny bit of magic in his pinky finger, nothing like his crazy dream.  Ollie Sztuczka may be some type of magical being, according to Deaton, but not one that had anything to help a dying werewolf. The paste, just like he, Scott, and their parents thought for years, was just some stinky stuff an old lady thought could cure all ailments.

_The truth is that it’s a load of crap! It’s-WHERE DID MY CUT GO?!_

Stiles stared, dumbfounded, and where the Batman Band-Aid had been before. Figuring it was taken away with the glove; Stiles gazed at the **perfectly healed** , smooth skin of his finger, where the cut had been before.

_It’s gone! It’s gone?! How-_

That’s when Stiles remembered what Mrs. Sztuczka told him at her kitchen table.

 _” Really, it’s the only way Mnich_ _odwrót works. Without a healing kiss, all it is really is smelly cabbages, vinegar, and herbs.”_

A kiss. The diffrence was a simple, healing kiss.

“Ooooh man, I know why it didn’t work!”

Scott’s eager head popped up from looking down at Derek.

“What? Why? What is it Stiles?”

The honey-eyed teen felt his cheek flush when almost all the eyes in the room turned to him.

“Uh…” He showed Scott his finger. “I cut myself earlier, and Mrs. S fixed it. She, ahh… _kissed my boo boo_.”

Isaac gave him sad-stained sarcastic look. “You think kissing Derek will heal him, are you kidding?”

“No, do it!” Lydia exclaim with light in her eyes. “I’ve seen it work before. Hell, I’ve made it work before! Do it Stiles!”

Stiles grimaced when he realized he was going to have to put his mouth to a wolfsbane infected abrasion, as well as layers of foul-smelling gunk.

_This is for Derek. Do it for the wolf-man you love. You can do it._

Stiles looked down again is disgust.

_Oh he is soooo going to owe me for this_

Bracing his hands at shoulders width apart on the exam table, Stiles breathed through his mouth as he shakily lowered his lips to Derek’s back.

_Don’t concentrate on the wound. Look at the tattoo, think of what the triskele means._

Stiles’ lips hovered over the slightly warm skin of Derek’s back.

_Think of…gray-green eyes in the sunlight, and red and blue ones at night. Think of dry humor that has been hidden too long behind a serious sour mask. Think of suppressed chuckles when you do manage to make him laugh and leather jackets and banter in cars._

Stiles closed his eyes, and recited the little ditty Mrs. Sztuczka always sang.

“Mnich Odwrót,”

_Monk Revearse_

“działać,”

Stiles pressed his soft lips to the wolf’s back.

_Work_

“działać”, Stiles whispered into the skin, feeling heady and rushing with love and _something_ from deep inside his being, as the paste coated his lips.

_Work_

Giving one last exhale and forgetting anyone else existed in the room besides himself and his wolf, Stiles rubbed his lips back and forth against the man below him, feeling his tears mix in with the paste.

Even if Derek never loved Stiles like he loved him, he would forever be greatful that he lived. He had lost and sacrificed so much, and Stiles would be damned if the universe decided it was his time to go. No. Love or no love, Stiles was going to make sure he was going to live, and enjoy the life he had.

_After all, that’s what we do. Stiles and Derek. He has my back, and I save his hot ass. God, let me save him. Let my love be enough._

Letting go and pushing all he was, they were,  and the mystery of all they _could_ be, along with his love and that **something** from deep within into his lips, Stiles gave Derek one last kiss to the wound.

“działać”

_Work_

Unbeknownst to the teen, the rest of the room watched in awe as a light seemed to glow from where Stiles lips and Derek’s injury met. With the last kiss Stiles placed on Derek’s back, they were shocked and amazed to see that the werewolf was completely healed.

Lydia, standing next to Scott, covered her heart as she smiled at the two, mascara rolling down her rouged cheeks.

“Well look at that. The power of true love wins again.”

Scott looked over at the strawberry blonde.

“The power of-Lydia, do you think they-”

She shook her head at her friend and whacked the Alpha on the shoulder.

“Stiles just kissed Derek better from the brink of death, and Derek knows Stiles real name. What does that tell you?”

Scott’s jaw dropped.

“Oh man.” He looked back to his best friend/brother, who still had his eyes closed, and his Beta, who was beginning to stir.

Looking back at Lydia, he knew what she meant.

“But they’re not even together.”

“Not yet, Scott. Not yet. Don’t you think we should give them a helping hand?”

Scott looked back over at Stiles and Derek, as the two both opened their eyes, and locked them on each other. He grinned.

“You’re right. Christmas is a time for miracles. Who’s to say that we can’t help with one more?”

Meanwhile, light brown and gray-green bloodshot eyes were gazing at each other.

In moments like those, like in one of Lydia’s favorite movies, the two would profess their undying love to each other.

However, things were not ever that simple with Derek and Stiles.

“Where the hell have you been Stiles, and why do I smell like rotten pickles?” Derek gruffly whispered.

Rolling his eyes, Stiles and Cora helped Derek sit up.

“Oh, that’s gratitude for you. I just saved your life dumb ass, with that “rotten pickle” stuff, and my own magic might I add.”

Cora, with suspiciously wet eyes, poked Stiles in the arm.

“Right. Your ‘magic’, which consists of making out with my brother’s infected wounds. That was really gross, by the way.”

Stiles sputtered as he wiped the paste from his lips.

“It wasn’t exactly pleasant for me, you know.”

He shot Derek a look.

“But hey! It brought you back, so it was worth it, right? You so owe me though man!”

Things were a blur of catching Derek up on the hunters situation, and Deaton checking his vitals.

Remembering that his Dad had dropped him off, and his Jeep was still in the shop, he was about to ask if he could catch a ride with Lydia, or ride behind on Scott’s bike, when Derek offered to take Stiles home.

With Cora waiting in the car, Derek insisted on walking Stiles to his door.

“Whoa, what a day, right? My Jeeps gets tampered with by magical hunters, and you almost die. Speaking of, you should probably down a bottle of water and gets some rest Derek.”

When Stiles was about to put his key in the door, Derek turned Stiles back around.

“Wait. Look…thank you, for what you did.”

Stiles knew he could have teased Derek for actually showing gratitude for once, but with the soft, exposed, genuine look on his handsome face, and the connection between them, Stiles found that he didn’t want to ruin the moment.

_Oh wow, we’re so having a moment here!_

“Dude, Derek, anytime man. Anytime, whenever you need me.”

Derek grunted in affirmation and nodded his head.

Seeing it as the end of the conversation, Stiles turned again, and opened the door.

“Stiles,” Derek called from behind him. Turning his body back towards the werewolf, he noticed Derek was looking at his feet.

“I heard what you said, when you held my hand.”

Stiles felt his throat close up.

“You mean the punching you in the nuts thing?”

A surprised bark of laughter broke free from Derek’s mouth.

“That too, but I was actually talking about something else.”

“Oh. Well now I feel stupid. What did you want to talk about?”

_What else did I say?_

Derek cleared his throat.

“The things about not being able to cope if I died, and how you always will save me?”

Stiles felt the color drain from his face.

“Oh. Right, those, well…”

“Stiles,” Derek said as he placed his hand out to stop Stiles’ words.

Finally looking up into honey colored eyes, Stiles saw something in Derek’s eyes that he had only seen once before. In his _dream_.

“Just know Stiles…it’s the same. For me. Every bit of it.”

Trying to lighten the mood, Stiles smirked.

“Even the punching the nuts part?”

Derek smiled right back.

“Especially that part.”

With that, Derek nodded his goodbye, and got in his car.

Inside on his bed, Stiles flopped backwards, trying to make sense of his day, and the days to come.

Getting up and walking to his window, he saw the light go out in Mrs. Sztuczka’s living room.

There were so many things that were confusing and jumbled in his brain. However, he did know that he used his freakin’ magic to save a life. A werewolf’s life. The man he loved’s life.

He also knew that he managed to that, only with her paste and her words.

He and Scott were planning to visit their old babysitter the next morning. As much as he was greatful for her, they were going to get some answers.

Until then, he thought as sleep overtook him, he was going to dream of hot werewolf husbands, fat cats, kisses, and adorable children.

* * *

 

Reviews and kudos = love


	8. Coffee Zombies and BLEACH

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Interlude of sorts with the Stilinski men. It involves Santa with a drug problem, coffee, and Stiles wanting to really clean the kitchen.
> 
> The sheriff also lets Stiles know that he is to go over to Mrs. S' house with Scott, and Stiles begins to wonder if the dream could have been really real.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for all of the positive reviews! =D

* * *

 

Stiles woke the next morning to the dull glow of the Christmas lights on the side of the house, and the faint sounds of _Alvin and the Chipmunks_ singing carols from the ancient radio downstairs.

Stretching like a cat, popping bones and shaking off the last dregs of exhaustive sleep, Stiles scratched the hair on his belly, and wandered down towards the merry sounds.

A small smile curled onto the teen’s face at the rare sight of his dad, singing along to the jolly squeaky tunes as he prepared leftover ham and tomatoes at the counter. The radio that carried the tinny music had once belonged to Grandpa Stilinski, and while one of the dials had fallen off, and it was literally held together with duct tape, (victim to one too many of Stiles’ sliding in his socks on the linoleum accidents), it still worked, so the Sheriff still used it, especially around the holidays.

John turned around and waved a butter knife in hello at his son.

“Moring Stiles. There’s coffee brewing.”

Stiles pat his father on the shoulder affectionately, and trudged in a zombie-walk towards the coffee pot.

“Thanks Pops, I need it after the night I had.”

The older man nodded as he took a bite of his breakfast sandwich.

“So I gathered! How is Derek doing, Nurse Stilinski?”

Stiles felt himself pause at the mention of the werewolf. Thoughts of the night before, when the two shared a **moment** on his porch, watching the light return to the man’s beautiful eyes, and the memory of literally kissing his Sleeping Beauty back to life, Stiles felt his insides _squeeze_ in such a good way; warming him like the softest flannel shirt for his heart. Feeling himself grin, he grabbed the coffee pot.

After splashing his bitter-nectar-from-the-gods with some milk, and some blissful caffeinated gulps from his _Boba Fett_ mug, Stiles felt awake enough to answer.

“I haven’t checked him out yet this morning, but he seemed fine last night.”

His dad raised a parental eyebrow at him.

Stiles rolled his eyes.

“Come on Dad, I didn’t mean it like that! Since he wasn’t keeling over anymore, he and Cora dropped me off here. Seeing as my dad had to stay over at work for, and I quote, ‘ _Something big, non-lethal, yet surprisingly **not** supernatural related Stiles’_.”

The sheriff shrugged, but pointed his sandwich at his son.

“You say that now, but I know that look on your face. Aside from my experience of once being a teenage boy, that look used to be your ‘Lydia Martin’ face when somebody so much as said anything about her, or her perfume, or God forbid strawberries. Third grade and up, son, we could not have a strawberry related dessert without you having that besotted look on your face. We couldn’t even have Jello, Stiles.”

Stiles shrugged, mirroring his dad’s earlier movement, and continued to drink his coffee. He was secure enough to admit the truth of his previous infatuation.

“That’s because Lydia is an intellectually beautiful banshee that has graced our humble planet with her lovely strawberry-blonde locks.”

John took another bite of his sandwich and swallowed it down.

“Yeah, well that doesn’t explain why you get that look now when Derek Hale is involved, and me witnessing you giving her what you call ‘bro nods’, like you do with Scott.”

Attempting to perch on the countertop, Stiles suddenly remembered his ordeal the day before, and why he ran from the house. Making a face, Stiles mindfully edged away from all the surfaces, opting to cautiously lean against the fridge.

_Yeah, not touching anything until it’s been bleached. Twice._

“That’s because Lydia and I are bros now. I’m the Pinky to her Brain… okay, so we’re not Scott level of bros, mind you, but we’re tight now. Scott’s my brother. Lydia’s my partner in crime.”

John leveled his son a look from the (possibly parentally dirrrrrty) ( _gross_ ) kitchen table.

“Crime?”

Stiles waved his arms in a placating manner, barely managing to not slosh coffee onto the floor.

“Heh, I meant non-illegal shenanigans and supernatural detective work!”

John tilted his head down in acceptance.

“That better be it.”

As Stiles opened his mouth to make a comment about rumors he heard of what his dad got up to when he was a teen, Stiles finally took notice of the sheriff’s attire.

He was still dressed in his uniform.

“Hey uh Dad, when did you get in?”

John looked over at the wall clock.

“Oh, about…half an hour to fourty-five minutes ago?”

Stiles eyes bugged out.

“Dad, your shift ended at 2:00 am, and it’s… crap! It’s 9:30! What in hell kept you?”

The sheriff patted the seat next to him.

“Oh son, do I have a story for you. Take a seat, because it’s not every day I get to say that I had to arrest Santa Clause!”

Stumbling over, (yet still wary and avoiding actually touching the table), Stiles spun the chair and straddled the seat backwards, eagerly awaiting his dad’s information like a kid waiting for storytime.

While Argent and Allison carted off Neiber and Melfson, John made his way to the Mall. With the guise of an anonymous tip on possible hidden drugs, he, some deputies and hunters disguised as FBI agents went to search and retrieve any leftover wolfbane from Santa’s Village. While Ms. Hendrix word held and they didn’t find any more of the dangerous aconite, they DID find some jolly green plants, and the sheriff didn’t mean mistletoe.

Turns out that the Mall missed Santa’s collection of ‘holiday cheer’. Much like his elves, Santa (aka: Mervin Finstock, Coach’s Uncle, wow), too hid plants in one of the gingerbread houses.

“At least I didn’t have to arrest ‘Santa’ while he was still in his suit. I did, however, had to deal with his sobbing wife and disgruntled nephew trying to post his bail. While your Coach was understanding, he kept yelling at the detainee that he was ‘Evil Santa’, ruined Christmas, and that he should have read the pamphlets he got him from the school nurse on drug addiction. I think I heard him say that he was going to make sure to lecture you guys on the importance of saying no to ‘mary jane and the life of holiday crime’.”

 

Stiles pounded the table with his fist, head thrown back in deep belly laughter.

The tired sheriff smiled ruefully at his refreshingly happy son.

“You laugh now buddy, but imagine the faces of the little children when Bobby Finstock fills in as the Mall Santa for the next two days. Geesh!”

Torn between feeling sorry for the kids possibly being more traumatized for having Coach as their Santa, compared to seeing Santa in handcuffs, and then imagining finstock!Santa yelling for Greenberg to bring him more candy canes, Stiles opted for falling out of his chair in hysterics.

After calming down and wiping his eyes, Stiles picked himself off of the floor. Standing up, he cringed when he realized that the floor was **also** a flat surface.

_Damn it! Note to self: bleach the floor. Yuck._

John noticed his son’s reaction, and cleared his throat. Trying to cover up his blush, the older man spoke up.

“Stiles, you need to go get dressed and freshen up. If you and Scott are going to be at Mrs. Sztuczka’s house by 10:30, you had better book it!”

Stiles’s eyes widened, his mug tilted in mid-air to his lips.

How did his dad know he and Scott were going to see her? He didn’t get to talk to his dad about the miracle that happened the night before.

He had planned to go over after the holidays that: 1.) He could apparently wield magic 2.) Their old lady neighbor was some type of witch. 3.) The paste that they carelessly stacked in a corner of their pantry, was actually the equivalent to a cure for cancer for werewolves.

Sure, his dad was in the know of the supernatural now, but all of that was really heavy stuff. Those things could wait until after New Year’s.

_So, that begs the question, how did Dad know that Scott and I were going over?_

Before his mind could up with any scenarios, (most likely involving Mrs. S’ draped in silk fuchsia scarves using a crystal ball), the sheriff answered his unspoken question.

“Oh, that’s right! She called me and Melissa earlier, to ask if you Scott wouldn’t mind coming over. She has a few errands that she needs doing, and as seeing that she helped you yesterday, I thought it would be a good way to thank her. Plus she promised you two breakfast, and I knew you couldn’t say no to her cooking.”

It wasn’t unheard of for he and Scott to be asked to go over and do things like mow her lawn and clean her gutters. Something so normal and mundane should have made him breathe easier.

It didn’t. Because he was already planning to go over, yet she asked them to come over instead.

_Can she possibly see the future?_

With that thought in mind, the uninvited apparition of divine lips and arms wrapped around him roared into existence, nearly knocking him to his knees.

_*Derek spun Stiles around, cupped his face with both hands, and claimed Stiles’ mouth in a slow, dirty, boilingly hot and tender kiss.*_

The hand that was not holding the coffee mug touched his tingling lips, and traced the fiery trails ghostly fingers left in their wake.

_Did **I** see the future?! Is that possible?_

Resolutely, he shook the thought and feelings away, placing his mug back onto the table with a THUNK.

_No Stiles, focus. No getting up your hopes until you have all the facts. Hope will only break you if it wasn’t real._

Besides, he didn’t really feel like having a conversation with his dad about his weird dream.

_Hey Dad, yeah, you know Mrs.S? Formerly my babysitter? She’s probably a witch. Oh! She might have spiked my tea with LSD, and I dreamed that I married the guy you once arrested for murder, and your grandkids were werewolves. Cool, right?_

Yeah, he didn’t see that going over so well.

Knowing he had to get a move on, now that he and Scott had a deadline, Stiles closed his eyes. He allowed the memory of he and dream!Derek to come back briefly, before he shoved it to the back of his mind again.

_Please, just…let it be real. I want it to be real._

“Right Dad!” the teen said with a falsely cheery grin on his face, “get right on that! I’m just going to pop in the shower.”

“You do that. I’m going to head to bed. I am beat.”

A more real smile grew on Stiles’ face.

“Okay Pops, Get some rest.”

With that, the two Stilinski men left the kitchen.

If Stiles took a few extra minutes in the shower to “daydream” about certain gray-green eyed werewolves and “relieve stress”, the sheriff didn’t notice. He was, after all, snoring up a storm after missing out on a night’s sleep.

 

Reviews and Kudos = Love


	9. Matchmaker and fear boners?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles and Scott are on their way to get some answers from their old babysitter. Along the way, Scott decides that he wants to get Stiles to answer something for *him*.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am alive! I figured you guys might want this chapter...even though it's Summer. (sorry guys!) (sorry Ollie!)
> 
> I told some of you that this chapter was going to have something to do with pirates and cats. Well, that's actually going to be in the upcoming chapter. *sheepish* The chapter you are about to read was going to be much shorter...but Scott and Stiles, the lovable scamps, decided to hijack the chapter, and run away with it. Whatever shall we do?
> 
> Hope you like it! More crazy (and Sterek love) on the way!
> 
> I am curious though on what you guys are thinking is going on. Comment and make some guesses on what's going to happen. Or if you don't want to comment on here, hop over to my Tumblr lunaraindrop, and drop me a line. =D
> 
> Love you all! Thanks for your patience!

 

* * *

 “Okay, so what’s our game plan Scott?” Stiles asked his best wolf-friend; Mrs. Sztuczka’s borrowed plate and a box of butterscotch candy with a large red bow in his nervous hands. 

Because Stiles’ Jeep was still in the shop, (get his Jeep fixed two days before Christmas? Yeah right. The mechanic laughed when he even broached the subject), Scott rode his bike over to the Stilinski’s. Deciding not to give the poor old lady a heart attack seeing _Scooter_ riding a “death trap on wheels”, (her words exactly), the two young men made the small trek to her house on foot.

Scott, armed with a light blue envelop with sparkly snowflakes, put on his determined puppy face.

“Just like we discussed over Skype. We tell her that the paste saved our friend’s life last night, and ask her if Deaton’s theories about her powers and familiars are true.”

Remembering what Deaton briefly said about her familiar, and how the kitten acted, Stiles shot his arm out to halt his friend.

“Yeah, speaking of things like the delivery witch Kiki and her talking magic cat, you’ve been holding out on me Scotty! When was I going to hear that there was a kitty that didn’t want to run or claw your eyes out?”

At this, the young Alpha’s face turned up in a happy grin. “Dude! Yes, I have been meaning to tell you about that! So Mrs. S has a cat that doesn’t freak out around me!”

Scott turned closer to his friend on the sidewalk in childlike excitement, his dopy smile shining like the star on top of the McCall’s Christmas tree.

“She also brought in this adorable rescue kitten for us to check over. I was kind of scared to get her when Deaton asked me to bring her out of the cage in the back. I mean she did claw up Deaton’s arm…and steal Mr. Whiskers food…”

Scott’s eyes lost focus, remembering the little furry hellion and just what destruction one bitty baby cat could do.

“…chased a parrot, pounced on a hamster, managed to scare all the other cats, knocked down the curtains, and took a pet mit and the parrot owner’s kid’s shoe hostage.”

Stiles felt his eyes widening, and his jaw continuing to inch its way to the concrete.

“All that?”

Scott nodded in bemusement.

“Yeah, all that. You can’t blame me for being afraid for my life, right?”

Stiles still could not reconcile the image of the cuddly kitten that fell in love with, and the psycho kitty Scott was talking about.

“You are talking about the tiny ball of black and white fluff, right?”

Scott nodded, pointing at his friend.

“Yeah! That’s the one!”

_Does the furball have an evil twin? Or could this be a Jekyll and Hyde situation? Multiple feline personalities? Kitty-kanima?_

 

Scott started walking again, turning to his best friend to walk backwards towards the old lady’s house. Smiling his trademark sunshine of a smile, he giddily continued to tell Stiles about his news.

“But that’s not the best part! Stiles, when I got her out, she didn’t attack me at all! She purred in my arms. A cat actually purred at me!”

That made Stiles grin at his friend. Scott, bless his heart, had always loved animals. It had been a kick in the teeth when he realized that cats, old and baby ones, would forever see him as the enemy after becoming a werewolf.  According to Scott, the animals had a similar reaction to Isaac when he volunteered at the clinic.

_That must be hard. Scott’s favorite animal has never been cats, but he does like them. What would it have been like if they were his favorite? Man that would suck._

As if summoning a sneak attack, his vision swam with the blurred, fasted paced images of he and Derek kissing, the older version of himself talking to the mirror, and the fat cat on the little girl’s bed.

He stopped walking down the sidewalk as his heart _lurched_ violently in his chest.

From the look on his face, to the sound of Stiles’ anxious heart, Scott paused and looked at his non-blood brother in concern.

“Hey Stiles, are you alright?”

Stiles was standing in the middle of the sidewalk, with his boney fingers covering his heart through his soft _Green Lantern_ t-shirt. The look on his face reminded him when Stiles was deep in thought, or thinking of a far off memory, usually something bittersweet and happy about his Mom. If it wasn’t for the sour smell of distress and the upping staccato in his chest, Scott would have thought Stiles was trying to remember a cherished memory from their childhood.

_*”…and I will give you everything, all of me. It has to be you though…”*_

Scott walked closer to his friend.

“Uh, Stiles?”

_*” 2.) You are a cat person. So is Derek. More than anything Derek wants a cat for his birthday, but the idiot will never say anything.”*_

Scott gripped Stiles’ flannel sleeve and shook it gently.

“Stiles?”

_*“Hey Cricket. Done with scenting Papa and reporting for duty?”*_

Getting upset, Scott shook his arm harder. He felt the Alpha red color bleed into his eyes as he called out to his frozen friend.

“Stiles!” Scott snapped out a growl in alarm.

Whiskey colored eyes instantly focused at the Alpha’s call, as his vision cleared of the confusing memory-fog.

“Stiles, where’d you go?”

Not one to keep anything from Scott, Stiles briefly told the young Alpha what had happened with the tea.

Scott’s eyebrows furrowed in endearing confusion.

“So, you think that Mrs. S gave you a special sleepy-time tea, like Mom drinks sometimes after work?”

“Sure, if by ‘special sleepy-time’ you mean ‘drugged to have weird ass dreams of sentient cats, living in _her_ house with my werewolf **husband** , and how she shrank into a pint-sized female _Me_.’ Yeah buddy. Nothing about that was normal.”

Scott shrugged, but hid a slightly smug smirk into his shoulder.

“Well, maybe it was a wishful thinking potion? Like, maybe showing you in dreams what you truly want in life?”

“I want to wear ugly Christmas sweaters and have rainbow unicorn wallpaper?”

Scott’s smirk turned into a full-blown smile as he bumped his friend’s shoulder. He saw the perfect opportunity to help Stiles and Derek move along to blissful happiness.

“No, but I bet the idea of regular married sex and you two having grumpy-hyper kids **is** something you would really want. I know I think about stuff like that with Allison all the time!”

Stiles rolled his eyes and bumped Scott’s shoulder back.

“Yeah, I know you do. Remember who you are talking to here buddy! Remember when you saw that toddler at Halloween dressed up like Merida? I don’t think I’ll get over your detailed plan to dress Allison jr. the same way.”

Scott beamed at the memory.

“See? Exactly!  I bet the tea Mrs. Sztuczka gave you makes you dream about what you really want in life.”

The pale teen felt his cheeks warm up at the idea. Even though he secretly hoped it was something more, something **real** , like _seeing his future_ , he knew Scott had a point. The dream took place in her house. Also, as much as he liked his former babysitter, he was pretty sure he would not name his first born after her.

Trying to temper the growing disappointment in his stomach and throw Scott off his Derek-yearning trail, Stiles scoffed at his wolf-brother.

“Okay, so yeah, I like the idea of having kids and getting married someday, that still doesn’t explain the craziness of tiny Ollie, the cat, and the fact that I, I don’t know, _married Derek_! It’s like I went down the rabbit hole, took the red pill, and tripped the eff out!”

Standing at the edge of the old Victoria house’s lawn, Scott turned to his in-denial best friend in puppy-like exasperation.

“Give it up man! I know you have it bad for Derek!”

Stiles felt his jaw work. Scott could be pretty observant when he wanted to be. (Mostly at times Stiles didn’t want him to be tbh)

“I do not!”

“Stiles, you so do! Not only can I hear the lie in your heartbeat, you always have your _Derek Hale face_ on when he is so much as mentioned.”

“My _what_?! Dude, what is it with you and Dad saying I make faces when people are mentioned? Am I a weremime now?”

Scott ignored the weremime comment and barreled on in zeal.

“See, he has seen it too! You know, your _Derek Hale face_! It’s like the one you used to have for Lydia, but with less sappy heart eyes, and more…uhh…”

Stiles felt dread building the more Scott tried to place just what his facial expressions were unwittingly giving away.

“More what Scott?”

“…more…uhh like…I got it! Fear boner! Less sappy, for fear boner!”

The earlier blush drained completely in the midst of the young Alpha’s face of triumph. Stretching his arms and fingers wide, Stiles swung his arms like an unnerved monkey.

“Whoa! More _fear boner_?!”

The young Alpha nodded his head with a big grin.

“Yeah, totally more fear boner!”

Stiles dragged his hand down his face and groaned loudly.

“So you’re saying that every time I so much as hear Derek’s name, my face screams terror and lust?!”

This caused Scott to frown. He tilted his head to the side, deep in thought.

“Well, to be honest, the fear in your face has changed a bit. Before, it was fear _of_ him, like, ‘Oh no, the scary wolf dude might eat me’, but now it’s more fear _for_ him, like ‘Hale, you better eat your kale before you get werewolf diabetes’.”

“One time, Scott. It was one time, and it was a spinach salad, not kale. Cooked kale is nasty.”

“It was three times, once with broccoli, but you do stuff like that all the time with him. You totally mother henned him the other day when you made sure he took his leather jacket because it looked like rain. You made that face then too, right after he took it and walked out.”

Stiles felt his jaw drop.

“So you’re telling me that it’s a _caring_ fear boner face?”

Scott’s eyes lit up and he pointed at Stiles. “Yeah! Like I said, it’s like your old Lydia one. The fear and the longing are still there, but more legit, except less sappy and more annoyed. But liking it.”

Stiles groaned. He placed the plate and box of candy gently on the top step of the porch, before he hid his face against the porch’s red support post in sheer mortification.

“Oh my God. Why didn’t you tell me that my face was telling people I was _worried_ _for_ and also _wanted to sex up_ Derek, wrapped up in a layer of _warm and fuzzy_ bubble wrap ?!”

Scott shrugged, leaning on the opposite post, fiddling with the envelop in his hands.

“I didn’t really put two and two together until Lydia pointed it out to me last night. Then later when I dropped by Allison’s…come to think of it, I think Isaac said something about it last week at dinner. He told me that Danny came up to him at lunch before break and mentioned something about ‘kissing cousins’…”

Stiles looked up from his arms wide eyed.

“Lydia, Allison, Isaac AND Danny?!” he called out is dramatic despair. The teen slid down the post, crumpling onto the sidewalk.

“Oh, I wanna die. Kill me Scotty.”

Scott smiled down at his friend in smug satisfaction, and crossed his arms.

“So you’re going to admit that you do want to be Mr.Hale, and have Derek’s babies?”

Stiles, in the midst of his minor panic, held up a finger.

“That would be Mr. _Stilinski_ -Hale, I ain’t giving up Stilinski for no man or woman… and oh god Scott, I have it so bad.”

“But you are admitting it thought, right?”

Stiles threw his hands in the air.

“Alright! Fine! I guess I am man.”

Scott, excited to hear Stiles finally admit it, did a little dance of triumph.

“There really are Christmas miracles after all!”

“Yeah yeah. _God bless us everyone_ and all that, just shut the hell up!” Stiles said from his depressed slumped position. He continued on when Scott stopped his little dance, standing up and giving his best friend a sobering look right into his eyes. He shook his head with a sad smirk.

“Fat shot of luck that’s going to do me, Scotty boy. This is _Derek Hale_ we’re talking about. Face it, it was just a dream.”

 As much as he tried to hide it, Stiles knew Scott could see the sheer physical pain it caused him to say that, by the way his best friend’s face morphed from encouraged to concerned.

“dream!Derek might have wanted a piece of matrimony pie with me, but not real _deliciously_ _freshy_ life Derek.”

In that instant, Scott went from the playful and earnest Scott that Stiles grew up with, and shifted into the-still human looking-young confident Alpha werewolf he was still becoming over the course of a couple of years. Gone was the adorable cherub boy that couldn’t run without an inhaler; replaced with the strong, loyal leader, that would do anything to protect his Pack/Family.

_From puppy to Alpha. Man, am I proud of this guy._

Scott squared his shoulders, and gave his depressed friend an assertive, yet hopeful look.

“Don’t be so sure. You said so yourself, something is up with that tea. Deaton says that Mrs. S is some type of witch.”

Scott’s lips pressed in a firm line, and his crooked jaw set sharply with a nod.

“She helped save a member of my Pack’s life last night, and it also seems that she might have done something to help _you_. Even if I didn’t know her, I would still be grateful for what she did. It would also be our job to get to the bottom of what she’s doing.”

Sucking up his feelings and plastering on a teasing smile, Stiles moved to stand shoulder to shoulder with the other teen, gifts in hand, and shrugged.

“Well, no time like the present to get some answers.”

With that, both young men knocked on the door.

* * *

Reviews and Kudos = Love


	10. Ollie Sr.'s Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To understand the present and future, sometimes we need to look back on the past.
> 
>  
> 
> ...
> 
> Or Mrs. S's backstory
> 
> References to WWII and The Holocaust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings!
> 
> I know it has been a while, but I have been working hard on this story. (Stiles and Derek NEED a happily ever after, okay?) College likes to eat my time, but I WILL finish this story!
> 
> What can we learn from knowing Mrs. S's past?  
> Also, I am not a native Polish speaker. If I get something wrong, please feel free to let me know. Thank you! :)
> 
> Kudos and comments = Love

* * *

 

_Ollie Sr.’s Interlude_

_Stiles and Scott- 7 years old_

Ollie was shuffling around the outside of her house, looking for her two favorite young men. “Now where did those two troublemakers get to?”

She had just baked a piping hot batch of her famous kruschickis, (or as the boys liked to call them, “sugar bow tie cookies”), but could not seem to find them anywhere. She felt a bump to her shin and noticed Mr. Whiskers looking across the street. Petting her thanks, she left on the hunch and went to the little garden on the side of the neighbor’s house. The boys were there. Curious what they were doing in secret, the little old lady did a trick she used to do as a snoopy child. She hid around the corner, and kneeled low on the ground. Well, as much as her trick hip would allow.

“…it has to be the most epic version of _Red Riding Hood_ I have ever heard of! Why would she hide this story from us?! Disney should make this a movie!”

From her hiding place, the impish woman saw her Scooter nod eagerly to what the first boy was saying. She could not see the other dear child, but she could hear the flip of pages. Momentarily panic stricken over the boys possibly taking one of her special books, she calmed down when she remembered Vojteck’s little notebook. Claudia was a genius when it came to teaching her son, or well, tricking her son into teaching himself. Wanting him to learn Polish, she was the one that suggested forbidding him to see certain stories that he might have found appealing. Low and behold, seven years old and he almost sounded like he had been born in the village she grew up in.

“What happened next, Stiles?!”

“According to this, the… my… myśliwych? Yeah, the myśliwych, which I think means ‘warriors’, came to fight Little Red’s village of magical creatures…”

Ah yes, she knew very well what tales had been copied down. In the very back of the illustrated book of the stories of her people, was a mismatched section of newer parchment paper. This newer section was called _Kroniki Mały Czerwony Dziewczyna_ , aka _The Chronicles of Little Red._

Oh how she knew that new section well. _Kroniki Mały Czerwony Dziewczyna_ told the story of a girl called “Little Red”, due to the unnamed girl’s unmanageable hair, and wearing her cousin’s hand-me-down red coat.

The section, while smaller in comparison to the rest of the book, was chock full of little stories. Some of the tales, towards the beginning, were happy. There were some heartwarming stories of Little Red learning to cook the special family recipes from her mother, as well as learning magic at her knee. There were many adorable stories of Little Red and her caring for her little brother. Since her parents let her name the baby boy, she kind of saw him and her own child, despite being just a girl herself. Besides her mother, he was her truest pride and joy. There were many about the special people, including her father and older brother, being able to turn into woodland creatures, and the fun times they had under the full moon. There were even some non-magical stories of Little Red and her cousin Rifka’s adventures, and accompanying her midwife mother to help with births. It was towards the middle and end of the chronicles that things got intense, and then very gloomy. The middle is where it sounded like the boys were at that moment. In that section they got to see not only how majestic the animal shifters were, but just how badass Little Red’s mother was. A dark haired woman of only 5’4 ft, with eyes the color of the sweetest honey, Little Red’s mother proved to be one hell of a warrior witch.  One story told how the heavily pregnant human woman protected Little Red from a Baba Yaga, with only the use of a rune covered wooden club.

That one was particularly bloody. Two lessons were learned: Never piss off the pregnant. Never try to hurt a person’s child.

Little Red wanted to be just like her.

The particular battle the boys were at was the beginning slope that led to the abrupt end of Little Red’s childhood. Mistaking myśliwych to mean “warriors” instead of “hunters”, the boys were imagining something of evil knights converging on Little Red’s family and friends. Vojtech, in time, would understand that it was actually his **own** name that meant “warrior”.

She could understand where the confusion the boys had come from. From what she overheard the boys thought the collection of stories of this little girl’s magical, and tragical early life were the Polish version of _Little Red Riding Hood_.

In all honestly she detested the Grimm brothers for writing that story.

Wolves were **not** the enemy.

Usually she would pick and choose juicy stories of monsters and fierce battles for young Vojtech to discover “on his own”. That section though…she had different reasons for not reading it.  Even though she was an old woman, with grey hair instead of auburn, the wounds of her past were still too fresh.

Yes, her past.

She was Little Red from the chronicles in that book. Her wonderful husband, Lord rest his soul, had taken the task to rewrite her story to update the histories for the next generation. He had purposely left her name out, for she was still living, and true names held magic.

You see, while Vojtech and Scooter thought the illustrated books of her’s were just fantasy stories, what they actually were were true accounts, information, and recipes collected over the years by pack members. Lost in thought, Ollie let herself remember what lead her to be here.

 

* * *

 

_Poland 1939_

_A twelve-year-old Ollie Ciepłewilk stood in the oil lamp light by the door of their home, as her Mama buttoned up her thick red coat. It used to belong to her cousin Rifka, who she had not seen in nearly three years. As each round button was done up in the flickering light, Ollie briefly thought on the girl she had played with in happier times. Two years older, taller, and larger boned that Ollie, Rifka was the gentler soul of the two girls. While Rikfa was content to play with dolls and to quietly read a book, Ollie was a lively spirit. Many a time it was Ollie’s exuberance, (and her sneaky curiosity), that would get both girls into trouble with their parents._

_Now though, Rikfa was far far away, living her life in shadow as somebody else. As much as she missed the girl, she almost hated her now. Rifka may have been forced away from home, but she also was now filling in Ollie’s shoes as older sister._

_While the coat was at least a size too big for Ollie, it was lined with the fur of the rabbits Rifka’s father had caught in the woods. Ollie’s Uncle Ryzard, just like his brother Zyczliwy, Ollie’s late Tata, were that of the “owłosione ludowa”, aka “hairy folk” of their village. At one time Ollie had been surrounded with the happy sounds of howls on nights of the full moon. Ollie had learned from her Tata that for many centuries the people of her pack had been known as the protectors of the village._

_While she and her Mama were not of the “owłosione ludowa” variety like her Tata and her late older brother Edek, she and her mother were just as important in taking care of the land and their people. She learned that she had a duty to learn of the histories of their people, and how to wield her own special gifts. She may not have the gifts of shifting shape and enhanced senses, but she had gifts of magic, like the gift of healing others and the gifts of a seer. While healing magic was almost commonplace gifts for czarownicas, or “witches”, like herself and her Mama, Ollie had a very special and rare gift. Ollie was a Seer. She learned how to share it and show visions by using magic through heating up a cup of tea. The heat was the trick. She learned early on how to wield the element of sun and fire. One must when living in frozen Poland._

_Buttons all done up, Mama handed her daughter a heavy brown satchel. She peaked outside of the curtains with a look of half apprehension, half dread._

_After all, it was not every day that one knows that their demise is nearly upon them._

_“Darling,” she said touching Ollie’s tear stained cheek, “it is nearly time. The sun will be rising soon. We must do the ritual.”_

_Ollie knew she had to do it, but she did not want to. After it was completed, there was no going back. She would officially be without a home, without a land, and without a family. Her only companion on her journey would be her mother’s old familiar cat. As much as she understood the dire situation, all Ollie wanted to do was to cling to her mother._

_Even in the face of certain death and despair, Mama glowed with bravery and grace in the lamp light._

_Klaudia Straszliwy-Ciepłewilk had her own special gift. While most people would call it a form of empathy, Klaudia could often feel if a person wished ill will, or if a bad situation was approaching. The last time she had felt that feeling was four years prior, when Ollie was eight, and her father and older brother were still alive._

_Zyczliwy and Klaudia were celebrating the birth of their new son. Ollie was very excited. Her parents took her suggestion for a name, and named the baby her very favorite name for a boy. To a feisty, battle-ready little girl, this meant the world._

_(Of course, that was the name Ollie planned to name a cat when she got her own familiar someday, but let it slide. Familiars were not easy to find, so she know it could take a while. While she was not the biggest fan of babies, she felt a special bond with that one. He had her blessing to keep the name.)_

_It was always a great celebration when a new baby was born in the pack, but it was even more special when the child of the pack’s Alpha came into the world._

_Even though Alpha Zyczliwy Ciepłewilk’s side of the family was not Jewish, he converted upon marrying Klaudia, a devout Jew despite being born czarownica. It was while the Rabbi of their small country temple came to bless the new baby, that Klaudia felt it._

_Death._

_Dread._

_Mayhem._

_The wave of feeling brought the poor woman to her knees. Not knowing what was to come, she asked Ollie to warm her tea, and show her some “funny pictures”. While both Zyczliwy and Klaudia worried about Ollie using such powerful magic at her age, they knew not to fear her seeing the vision meant for her mother by accident. While Ollie herself could see visions, when she passed her gift through warmed liquid, it was to give the drinker the ability to see a vision from their own timeline._

_Klaudia was horrified. While she did not see much, what she did learn made her vomit._

_Hunters, or myśliwych were coming for their pack. They had heard stories over the years about a powerful pack nessled quitely near the forest and river. Even though they were peaceful, these myśliwi did not believe “owłosione ludowa” were safe to keep alive around humans. They also feared the power of czarownicas born of the pack. While shifters had the power of tooth and claw, czarownicas of packs were known to be just as dangerous, if not more. If they grew to become Druids and Emissaries, they were formidable foes._

_Ollie’s father immediately went to action and called a pack meeting that very night. They tried to get into contact with ally packs, only to hear the horrifying news that packs in eastern Europe were being quietly picked off one by one. Anyone that was human was left alone, but anyone that was either owłosione ludowa, or had a spark of magic, were exterminated. Lots of news of bodies either cut in half or burned at stakes came their way. For fear of what could happen to her czarownica daughter, Klaudia instructed her to never speak of her gifts, and to always stay close to the house. While this put a damper on Ollie’s life, this did not stop the happy child with playing with her cousin and new baby brother._

_A year passed with no event. Life continued. Finally, the night of the attack, Klaudia hid Ollie and her toddler son in the cellar. Klaudia tried to make Edek hide, but he refused. Loyal to a fault, Edek wanted to stand shoulder to shoulder with his family and friends entering the fray. For three days and three nights Ollie took care of her baby brother, hoping her parents and older brother would come back._

_Despite the circumstances, Ollie loved spending her time with the hyperactive toddler .While she was fearful that her family might not come home, she was bound and determined to be the best caretaker for the precious boy placed in her tiny hands. When the cellar would get cold, she would risk using her magic to warm his bottle and blankets. To keep herself from crying in fear, Ollie would tell her brother of all of the fun times they would have._

_“I sure do hope you don’t turn out like Tata and Edek,” she had said one night to the babbling child, “as much as I love the midnight howls, I want you to be just like me, or even like cousin Rado!”_

_Ollie would whisper in his ear, “Tata swears he is human, even though he is very hairy. He says that even non “hairy folk” are very hairy in this part of the world. He says it is to keep them warm. If that is the case, why can’t we all turn into wolves?”_

_She pet the younger child’s downy brown  head and continued talking._

_“I don’t think we have to worry about that though. You don’t have very much hair. No, I need you to be just like me.When you get a little older, we can be best friends! Unlike Rifka. She’s my friend, but she does not like playing hide-and-seek with broom swords. I bet you will like that.”_

_Being a small child, and that of one with a strong will, Ollie decided herself that the baby, whether he had a spark or not, would be taught magic and histories by her. He needed to learn the important things about pack too._

_“At the very least, if I can’t find a good familiar like Mama’s, you can be mine! You can pretend to be a cat, right?”_

_This led to the little boy meowing at his sister relentlessly. This was fine with her. Beside her brother, Ollie’s other most favorite thing in the world were cats._

_“Just you and me, little warrior. Whether Tata and Mama come back, you and I are a team. I’ll teach you everything you need to know, just like Mama taught me. I promise, you and me against the world.”_

_It was when the younger honey eyed child would sleep that Ollie would let her fear get to her. Even as she silently cried into her pillow, she promised herself that if her family did not come back, then she would be his mother. As much as she loved her parents and older brother, it was the child next to her that meant the most._

_On the fourth morning, her Mama came home. Aside from her grey tabby familiar that kept her invisible to the eyes of the myśliwi, she came alone.  Even being prepared, they lost so many in the fight. Ollie lost her father and older brother._

_The Pack had ultamently won the battle, but they were promised a war. What saved the ones that were left, shifter and human, was the use of the paste. Klaudia and Ollie, the only two remaining czarownica left in the whole pack, worked to the point of exhaustion to save the lives of those that were left.  The myśliwi said that they would come back bigger and stronger, and would burn the village to the ground, including the innocent humans that lived there. The only thing that would save the village of innocents would be if all supernaturals were gone. The humans that were not in the pack, once grateful for having such a powerful pack to protect them, got angry and insisted the wolves leave for good. However, they asked Klaudia, the town midwife and known healer, to stay._

_This left Ollie’s mom weak. She knew that she was not found out, but knew that she could never practice magic again. The same went for her daughter, if she stayed._

_Knowing that the humans would be safe if they left, all the remaining wolves left the village to go into hiding, as they were told. Fearful that her youngest would turn out to be just like her husband and oldest son, a grief stricken widow gave her baby to her brother-in-law’s family. Ollie, who begged and pleaded to keep her precious baby brother, a child she saw as her own, at her side, was ignored. At the time, before advances in technology, there was no way of knowing until a baby shifted if they would turn out to be a wolf._

_Klaudia, being the Alpha mate, did not want to leave their land. Somebody had to stay and protect the people of their village._

_A decision was left at Ollie’s little feet. Either to stay with with her Mama, or go with and be adopted by her Uncle’s family, like her little brother. If she left, she and her Uncle’s family would have  new identities. She could be with her favorite little person in the world...but she would never see her mother again. Knowing that there was nothing to it, both of her brothers were going to be places too far for her little arms to reach, Ollie did not ask to leave. As much as it broke her heart, Ollie clung to her mother. She cried at the thought of her mother alone with only their cat and older human cousin for company. At least her baby brother would have family surrounding him. However, it was the same older cousin, Radoslaw, Rifka’s human older brother, the only human in her Uncle’s family, that refused to be left behind. His family was going into hiding. He would not be without them.Ollie could not help to see the similarities between her human cousin and her brave older brother. She did not feel so bad if her best friend turned out like him after all. Hairy and all._

_What brought Ollie to the kitchen door that morning, came about one night the month before. It had been three years of peace. Through the caution of ordinary life, Mama kept her ear close to the ground about the myśliwych but they did not come back. No, unknowingly something else was festering in the distance._

_Not knowing how to get into contact with the members that dispersed, the two women and one cat went about normal life. Three years of not hearing from the pack members in hiding, before her mother felt that awful feeling again. This time, however it was teamed up with Ollie having a nightmare._

_Ollie was frantic. In her dream she saw hundreds of soldiers coming up the main road to the village._

_She watched her mother and other town’s folk being told that they needed to pack up their belongings._

_She saw hundreds marching in the cold, only to be led to a gaping pit in the ground._

_She saw those same people being shot._

_Ollie did not understand what was going on at the time. These men did not look like myśliwi. They had uniforms on with a big ugly spider on the sleeve._

_Ollie did not understand why ordinary humans would be killed like this. They had no magic to fear. They could not shift their shape._

_Why were they being hunted?_

_However, it was not seeing the gruesome sights that terrified Ollie. No, it was worse than that, for Ollie saw versions of her life after the horrifying executions. She knew that what she saw happening to the people who went to her synagogue would not be what happened to her. She saw herself escaping into the woods with her mother’s familiar, clad in her red coat. The thing that made her scream and cry, was the fact that her Mama did not come with her. No matter what she searched in her mind, her mother was just...gone from her future._

_She saw herself older in America, feeling the golden sunshine in her hair. She saw herself meeting a bright boy who liked to play with gadgets, and gave her kisses that made her lips tingle. She saw herself married to that wonderful boy-turned man...but she was an orphan._

_She told Mama all of this that night. Her mother had not been blessed (or cursed) with the gift of forsight, so she could not see the visions that plagued her. Klaudia, while trying to hide such news from her child, heard the rumors about Hilter’s rein, and what it meant for the Jews. She begged her mother to drink some of her special heated tea, only for her mother to timorously tell her not to use her magic. Dreams and feelings could not be controlled, but actively choosing to use magic was unnecessarily dangerous for them. Instead, Klaudia bundled her daughter up in a blanket, and sat her in her lap in a rocking chair. Petting her tangled scarlet hair, she asked her to tell her about the happy things that would happen to her when she grew up._

_She asked her what her wedding dress would look like, if her husband would be kind, and what her grandchildren would be like._

_Ollie didn’t have the heart to tell her that after losing her little brother, she did not want to ever be a mother, or that the man she married did not want to be a father._

_She did not want to say that they would live a childless happy life filled with travel and adventure._

_She kept to herself that they would settle down in old age in a town that she knew held her last living blood relatives._

_She did not want to tell her that that town would have a Nemetod, something her mother had warned her to always stay far away from._

_So instead she told of her of her girls, one Klaudia’s namesake, the other a proficent healer,  that she would call her daughters._

_With a tearful but happy smile, she would tell her mother of her future great-grandsons. She would boast endlessly and with pride about how one would become a True Alpha of myth, and how the other would become one of the most powerful witches of all time._

_She would promise her whiskey-eyed Mama that both would carry on the legacy of their people, and built a strong pack in America._

_It did not matter that the baby that scooted on his butt across the floor was technically not blood related. She loved him and his mother like they were._

_Pack did not have to be related to be family._

_As for the other... that precious boy. She would not tell her mother his name,but she would tell her that he and his mother, her namesake, both had her brown eyes. They had already lost one Vojtech in this lifetime to circumstances. She did not want to open that wound in her mother’s heart._

_This one might be Ollie’s brother’s grandchild, but she would love him like he was her own. She would get a second chance to teach a Vojtech everything she knew, like she promised. She would never see her baby brother again, but she had the promise of knowing this one and seeing him grow up._

* * *

 

_With those thoughts in mind, Ollie found herself ready to do the ritual._

_With a heavy heart, Ollie took the plate from Mama’s hands. She picked up the piece of kielbasa her mother prepared, and bravely took a bite. Looking down at the familiar that was about to become her own, she shakily offered the meat from her plate to the cat. The cat, a faithful companion and excellent familiar to Klaudia, mournfully meowed and rubbed against her for the last time. He knew Ollie was to be his new partner, and to guard her with his life. Resigned, the cat ate the kielbasa._

_The ritual was complete. A new contract had been forged between person of magic and familiar._

_Ollie had just leveled up on her magic, and won the chance to live._

_She and her mother had paid a hefty price._

* * *

 


End file.
